The Luck Spot

The Luck Spot By D. C. Retsloff "Henry was the best man that ever lived," said Mary Hem- shaw, through her tears, "though he didn't have much of an eye for saving the pennies; but my first didn't either, and I got along. One thing, the Lord gave me sense enough to skimp the assessments out of what we had, so I'll get the life insurance." "What do you intend to do?" asked Mrs. Judd, tall, thin, and doleful. Mary dried her eyes on a cheap looking cotton handkerchief and answered in a firm voice: "The life insurance will pay what T owe and leave a little for a rainy day. I'm not going to run op electric light bills in trying to figure out what will happen in the future. On Monday, I'm going to begin work in the crockery department at Skook's Five and Ten." "At the Five and Ten? Don't you think you could do better at housework — at least for a time, until you get over that cough?" Mrs. Judd was quick to add, for she saw a wrinkle gathering on the widow's brow. "I've already engaged a place for myself in the Five and Ten," quietly answered Mary. "I may be awkward with the doing up at first, but I'll soon get on. Things look pretty dark just now, but it has to be a mighty tight built fence that I can't see through. Looking up has been sort of a specialty with me for years. God didn't put me here to die of starvation, and from the long lists in the 'Want Columns' of the papers, I think I'm fortunate in getting in with the crockery at the Five and Ten. As for my cough, that's nothing. You never saw anyone who had a mole on the lobe of the left ear, same as I have. Who ever had any lung trouble— at least my mother didn t, nor her mother before her. It's all settled, I begin work Monday morning." Mrs. Judd's sallow face twitched. Mary Hemshaw picked a withered leaf from a lank geranium, growing in a tomato can, sitting on the window sill and continued: "I've never borrowed anything in my life and the time is not ripe yet for me to borrow trouble from the Lord." She rubbed the mole on her lett ear, this mole is for luck, Mrs. Judd." Mrs. Judd murmured sadly, "May be so, may be so, but there s two kinds of luck, you know— good and bad." bure, there is," replied the widow. "Ain't I been lucky 9

THE LUCK SPOT 315 I've had two good husbands, the Lord took them both didn't he, don't you think he'd left me one if he hadn't contended that my common sense and my luck spot would keep me on my feet?" "I'm glad you can feel that way about it, Mrs. Hemshaw," Mrs. Judd's voice increased with doleful solemnity, "but you must remember that it was one straw, just one straw too many that broke the camel's back." "So it was, Mrs. Judd, so it was, but I've never starved yet nor had to hunt a fig leaf, and at fifty-two, I'm not going to begin doing either." II It did not take Mary Hemshaw long to adjust herself to her new work and to find her place and part in the crockery department of Skook's Five and Ten. "I'm No. 7, down at the store," she said to Mrs. Judd. "I'm glad to have that number. Seven is the perfect number, one of the Lord's own. He favored seven when he made the days of the week, and I've always noticed that it is a lucky number. The store is a fine place to study people, and unless I miss my guess I'm needed there." Mrs. Judd paused in the act of removing the wax from her ear with a black wire hair-pin and replied: "One person is just about as good as another when it comes to working in the Five and Ten, and needed in about the same manner, as near as I can see." "Well, maybe I could explain what I mean," said the widow. "You see two girls between eighteen and twenty work with me. They are No. 13 and 23. Thirteen is a new one, a stranger from the country, a cute little thing, far too pretty to be alone in this city. Having been a mother once myself, be- lieve me, I'm going to give her a bit of advice." "A mother?" repeated Mrs. Judd, her voice indicating that she thirsted for information. "Yes, a mother. It was during my first married years; you know circumstances sometimes alter cases. I'm not staying any- thing against my own blood, that I 'spose has forgotten me. That's past, rolled up and sealed, but I've seen and heard enough already to know that the Lord intended me to take the job in the Five and Ten. I know my place, and I know my duty, and if the manager of the crockery department knows his, there'll be no trouble." "Better not butt in," warned Mrs. Judd. "If you do, you may lose your job." "If I lose my job, another will turn up. I'm not going to hang around a crockery counter and see with my own eyes an

316 IMPROVEMENT ERA innocent girl led off by the drug store complexion of No. 23 nor sent to her death or worse by a beak nosed manager." Mrs. Judd leaned toward Mrs. Hemshaw and tapped her on the shoulder, "Why do you worry? It's not your funeral anyhow, and a job is a job these days." Mary Hemshaw screwed her eyes tight for a moment, then opened them wide, "Butting in, Mrs. Judd? You ain't no idea what butting in is. Somebody's been butting into my affairs ever since I was knee high to a grass-hopper. My first hadn't decently cooled, back in Massachusetts, before the neigh- bors began telling me what I should do and what I should not. Some of them what the good Lord never would let have a child of their own, got mine away from me. Twelve years ago I steamed up and came west, and married Henry Hemshaw. As I said the past is rolled up tight, I'm not wanting to smell even its lavender. I've got my health and a couple of jobs." "You don't say," interrupted Mrs. Judd. "Land sakes, how can you ever keep going with two jobs? Seems to me being on your feet all day in the Five and Ten is enough to take all your pep." Mary shook her head negatively, "You don't understand, Mrs. Judd, so I'll tell you. One of my jobs is selling crockery in the Five and Ten, that I get paid for in money. The other is to keep a chill out of the soul of No. 13, the pay for that will come from the Lord, when I need it." "What's No. 13's real name?" Mrs. Judd's voice was a trifle sharp. "I haven't asked," Mary Hemshaw confessed. Ill No. 13 leaned against a table, two big tears splashed into a yellow mixing bowl. The air came in through a high window, damp, sluggish and stingy. Mary Hemshaw handing fifteen cents in change to a customer saw the tears drop. "What is it?" she spoke softly. The girl's lip trembled. She swallowed hard, then brought it out with a gulp, "The manager— I wouldn't go to a movie with him last night. He's sore, he spoke awful to me this morning." "Never mind," Mary spoke as a mother might. "Never mind, don't worry your bright head over a little thing like him." "But you see," quavered the uncertain voice of No. 13, "I've got to work and if I lose my job here, where will I go?" "Go? Why there are dozens of places in the city where girls can get jobs, never mind him. I sized him up the first day I was here, he's a shrimp, a blue shrimp, and a blue shrimp,

THE LUCK SPOT 317 my dear, is the lowest kind of a shrimp, don't let him," she nodded toward the end of the store, "see you wasting perfectly good tear water." "Here you, No. 13," called the manager bustling up, "get a move on yourself. There's an order waiting. Twelve dozen cups and saucers to be wrapped. What's the idea of bowl dust- ing just now? And you, No. 7, I'm surprised at a woman of your years gossiping. Get to work both of you." Mary Hemshaw turned and surveyed him with calm eyes, "Go easy, Mr. Manager, go easy. Let the poor kid alone. I set her to dusting the bowls." "Who's boss of this department?" he demanded. " I haven't asked," Mary fitted a lid On a brown tea-pot. "See here, No. 7, have you read the rules posted on the cloak room door. You are here to work, not to back talk. Do you want to be fined?" Mary Hemshaw smiled. She had lived too long to cry out when she was hurt. He raised his voice, "Do you want to be fined?" "I'm not deaf," the words fell placidly from the woman', lips. There was a glint of hardness in her dark eyes, "but I'm game, fine if you want to, maybe the company can declare a dividend, if you make the fine heavy enough." The telephone rang and gave him an opportunity to re- treat with something like dignity. "What's your name, dearie?" Mary turned to the trem- bling girl. "Alice Wilby." "Mine is Mary Hemshaw, I'm twice a widow. There is a child floating around that belongs to me, but I don't know where, so I'm always keeping my eyes open to help some young person that needs a strong arm. I'm ready to stand by you, if you happen to be without friends. You needn't be afraid. You can trust me as you would your own mother. You may call me Mary." Alice Wilby looked into the benevolent face of the older woman and then told her story. "After my father died in Victoria, there was not much of anything left, so I came to Seattle, where I heard there was a big demand for millinery designers. I always could make hats. One store gave me ten days work and then I could not get anything more in that line. I bought needles and pins and tried selling them in the suburbs. I did pretty well for a month, then a policeman told me I must take out a peddler's license. I didn't have enough money to do that and live, so I had to give up the needle busi- ness. I addressed envelopes for one company, and they still

318 IMPROVEMENT ERA owe me. I've never worked in a store before, but I know 1 can, if he only will let me alone." "Don't be anxious, honey," said Mary. . "Where is your trunk and things?" "At 777, 14th Avenue, West. My room rent is up Satur- day and if I lose my place here, I'll not be able to pay it another week." "At 777, 14th Avenue," repeated Mary Hemshaw. "That's the best of luck. Seven is the perfect number. I'm No. 7, your street number is three sevens and the street itself is two sevens. Them sevens and my mole is sure to bring you luck. You have your things sent out to my place. I've four rooms and a real yard with two rose bushes and a bed of mint. Mint always reminds me of an every day Christian, it gives out its fragrance every time your skirt brushes it. You'll just naturally love my mint bed," Mary Hemshaw rubbed the lobe of her left ear. "You're awfully good to take interest in me, Mary, and I'll be so glad to live with you. But I'm afraid you won't want me when you know that I've pawned my trunk and all the things I had to wear, except what I have on. I'm down and out. If I lose my place here I'll not have a cent to pay for my board and room." "Never mind, dearie." Mary closed one finely formed, calloused hand over the girl's little soft one. "Never mind, the future will take care of itself. You never catch up with the future, no matter how fast you hurry. It's always ahead, I never let it dampen my starch. Today is what we have. Where is your trunk vacationing?" "At Abraham Isaac's on Second Avenue." "And how much has he against you, dearie?" "Twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents." "That's but a drop in the bucket, honey, and nothing to be ashamed of. I've known others to be worse off than you, and by and by they was having money to burn, even if it was only in fire crackers." Mary Hemshaw stooped down — raised her skirt — thrust her hand into her stocking and brought out a folded paper. From it she extracted three ten dollar bills. "I never bandy words, dearie, here is the money, at noon you run down to Brother Abraham's, pay him and have him send your trunk out to my place on the Renton line, I'll give you the address. And, dearie, before you let them bills kiss your pretty fingers good-bye, be sure you have a receipt in full from Abraham. I had some dealings once with a capitalist by the same name and he told me with voice and hands that he was perfectly honest, but when I came to settle with him, I found

THE LUCK SPOT 319 that his honesty had gone on a strike — take it from me — al- ways count the change, no matter who hands it back." IV Monday morning in the crockery department, Mary Hem- shaw worked in an outward state of placidity, but within there was anxiety and turmoil. Alice Wilby was sick. Mrs. Judd had promised to "look in, off and on, during the day." "And whatever you do," cautioned Mary, "don't tell Alice how sick she is. I never hold up the white flag no matter how my knees shake. Tell her she's as sound as a nut, except her cold, now remember as sound as a nut. Maybe the doctor is mistaken about her lung. Don't direct her mind to herself. By the time I come home tonight something may have turned up. It is only one lung that has a spot on it, and what is one spot? Blessings sometimes come disguised, and who knows but what this lung spot will prove a blessing and bring her good luck. It may be a luck spot, the same as my mole is." "I can't figure how your mole has ever brought you good luck," said Mrs. Judd. "Neither can you figure that it brought me bad. When the lime comes for my mole to bring the luck — I mean when I really need it — this mole will be on the job, I feel it in my bones." "Hump!" Mrs. Judd smiled grimly, "don't you think it would be well for me to prepare Alice for what may happen?" "Happen?" echoed Mrs. Hemshaw. "What do you mean?" Mrs. Judd twisted her bony fingers one around the other. "Well if she has any little keepsakes — " Mary Hemshaw's mouth settled into a thin line — Mary Hemshaw who had met death and defeat at many of life's turns lifted her head as at a challenge : "It's against my principles to work the dying idea into anyone's system, even if they are just holding on to life by a basting thread. Haven't you ever heard that a straight spoon often looks crooked in a glass of water? Don't try to work any sickness into Alice by telling her how bad off she is. The doctor says all she needs is a change of climate. Six months in the south — California, for instance." Mrs. Judd's arm jerked out in an angular gesture. "How on earth are you ever going to send her south? Where '11 you get the money? If she's going to die, and I believe she is, you'd better save everything for funeral expenses. It's cheaper to have people cremated these days and then one don't need worry about the head stone falling down. Jane Henry has her mother in a bottle standing on the mantle. She says the

320 IMPROVEMENT ERA bottle is real cut glass and even so was lots cheaper than a coffin and a funeral out at Greenwood." Mary Hemshaw's eye brows went up. "Die," she repeated. "Alice is not going to die. I love her just as much as if she was my own flesh and blood. As a self respecting woman, I've got to send her south. Something is bound to turn up." A week, then two weeks, and in spite of Mary's declara- tion, nothing turned up. The third week had almost slipped into the past, it was Friday. Mary was arranging a new ship- ment of Guernsey baking dishes on a table at the rear of the store. The manager came hurrying up with a memorandum in his hand. "Here, No. 7," he barked, "sort out this list, get the things together. Mrs. Jennison phoned the order in. She'll be down in an hour, she never buys unless she sees the goods, so have them ready." For a full minute Mary stood motionless before she glanced at the slip of paper, then a smile crinkled the corners of her eyes, she felt that somehow or other that memorandum would be the medium through which something would turn up. She rubbed the lobe of her left ear. "Twelve cups, saucers, two sizes of plates, platters and side dishes. Plain white, Winslow edge," she spoke the words softly and almost caressingly. At ten o'clock she surveyed the collection, clean and dust- less. She hovered about the table, several times she clasped her hands and closed her eyes, her heart beat almost audibly. Shortly after eleven, a dark little woman with a cameo cut face and a sweetly curved mouth, came slowly down the main aisle of the crockery department. "Are you No. 7?" Her voice matched her curved mouth- "Yes," answered Mary. "I'm Mrs. Jennison. I phoned an order for dishes and the office said No. 7 would attend to it." "Here are the things, Mrs. Jennison. As soon as you ap- prove, they will be wrapped." "I want some tin-ware. I'm putting my best dishes in storage. I'm renting my house furnished. I'm going to Cali- fornia for six months." Mary Hemshaw looked at the sweet face of her customer. Her mole burned, "now or never" said something within. There was a faint quiver of her chin, "May I be so bold as to ask where in California you expect to go?"

THE LUCK SPOT 321 "To the southern part, Santa Barbara. Have you ever been there?" Something like a hot needle pricked Mary's left lobe, "No, I've never been south, but I have a little friend who wants to go and since you've mentioned it, I'm wondering if you know anyone down there who might want a governess. My friend is a graduate of the Victoria Seminary, she lives with me, I can recommend her." For a moment Mrs. Jennison studied the face of Mary Hemshaw. "How strange," she said, "this very morning I put an advertisement in the Times for a young woman companion. My husband is interested in the oil fields and I want her to stay in Santa Barbara with him. Give me your address and I will see her." VI Mary Hemshaw was just finishing her frugal supper when Mrs. Judd with her usual double tap opened the kitchen door. "How's your feet tonight? Better — that's good. I brought over this bottle of liniment, you're welcome to what's left of it. Brother John was using it when he died. I'm sure it didn't make his back any worse, and I don't know as it did him any good, but as I said you're welcome to the rest of it. The bottle's more than half full." She held it up to the light before she set it on the table. "By the way, I was talking to the postman this afternoon and he said the letter I saw him drop in your box was post-marked Santa Barbara." She seemed a little em- barrassed as she drew out a chair and sat down. "I — I — hope Alice ain't had any bad spells since she's been there. It would be terribly humiliating for you, if she ran up a doctor's bill among strangers." Mary set her supper dishes in the sink and picked up an envelope from the end of the sewing machine. Mrs. Judd's long face lighted with interest, she leaned forward, supporting her chin in her hand. A little smile hovered about Mary's lips, she rubbed her luck spot and tapped the white paper. "Yes, this is from Alice. She is well and the Jennisons are very kind to her." With a carefulness in which lurked the tenderness of a mother, she slipped the envelope into the front of her waist. There was something about it that irritated Mrs. Judd. "I'm glad she's all right. I was afraid you was taken in with that girl. You never know anyone till you summer and winter them, and all told you knew her less than six months." VII Summer gave place to Autumn, and Autumn stepped aside

322 IMPROVEMENT ERA for Winter. One rainy Saturday evening when Mary Hemshaw entered her gate, she saw Mrs. Judd with a covered tray, waiting on the porch. "I knew you'd be wet and cold. I brought a dish of stew for your supper. It's burning hot and so is the tea. I've had it under the cozy for an hour. I paid the postman two cents extra on a letter of yours. I thought it would be a crying shame to keep you from hearing from Alice till Monday. I'll kindle the fire while you eat and then you can read your letter. I hope Alice ain't collapsed or anything, that's such a thick letter, there must be some sort of trouble down there. Trouble always weighs things down." Mrs. Judd pinned a towel around her flat waist and pushed up her sleeves. Then returning to the topic of Alice Wilby, "I could have sworn that she was con- sumpted. Maybe the climate has cured her. It was queer that the Jennisons took her, without real influencing recommenda- tions. Hope I didn't get too much salt in that stew. Jane Henry came in just as I was putting it on and I forgot and salted it twice." She poked the fire and hummed a couple of bars from "Rescue the Perishing." "I'll just set the kettle on," she said, as she turned a faucet in the sink, "I hate to have dirty dishes hanging over, I always wash mine, be they only a cup and spoon — my sakes!" she exclaimed. "My sakes, Mrs. Hemshaw, be you sick? You're the color of Brother John after the undertaker was through with him!" Mary Hemshaw sat clutching the open letter. Tears ran down her face and fell unnoticed on the written lines. Mrs. Judd hurried into the bed-room and returned with the camphor bottle. "Here, take a sniff, quick. Land sakes whatever is the matter? Alice got into some scrape down there? Thank heaven she's not your own flesh and blood. I don't blame you for being upset. My, my, ain't it awful?" Mary Hemshaw's face reddened. The tears dried on her cheeks, her eyes glittered. "It is more than lucky that Alice went to California. This is what she writes, 'I wish you were here this minute to share my happiness. I'm going to marry Johnson Seamore, a young superintendent in the oil field. He is a great, honest, big-hearted boy, and a Christian. He has made me love him, not only for himself but because of his interest in every person. He was separated from his mother when he was very small and has always hungered for home ties. He made me promise to have you come and live with us and be a mother to us both. He has a luck spot, Mary, just like yours on the lobe of his left ear.' " "My, my!" ejaculated Mrs. Judd. "Ain't that queer? Of

THE LUCK SPOT 323 course you'll take a trip down there, but don't give up your job in the Five and Ten. You and the oil boss mav not hit it off." "Maybe not," slowly replied Mary. "But Johnson Seamore is my long lost son. Haven't I always told you that the Lord had never once deserted me in all my fifty-two years, and I've felt right along that in his own time he would give me back my boy. The mole is a luck spot, you see even Alice calls it one." Mrs. Judd looked open incredulity as she rattled the stove and muttered, "I'd never call a deformity a 'Luck Spot.' No indeed." San Diego, Cal. Waste Places Clifton, Idaho There are stretches of sand, dust, and alkali plains, There are jungles of gnarled trees, where solitude reigns, There are tundras and steppes and deserts and strand; There is lava, and limerick, and "logged-over" land, There are swamp beds, and morass, and ice sheets, and peaks; There are boulder-strewn stream-beds and glaciers bleak, There are denatured farm lands and water-logged sod, Waste places all — in the sight of God. There are souls that are faithless, with grossness grown old, There are hearts that are loveless, and hearts that are cold; There are homes without children and doves without cotes, There are eyes with pride blinded, and minds without thoughts There are maids without wooers and men without goals, There are altars not kindled, and men with dead souls; There are souls lost in darkness, who stumble and plod, Waste places all — in the sight of God. Orvid E. Howell Music Of all our myriad songs today I love the old songs best — The songs of harmony and soul That whisper love and rest. Give me the songs as clean as white sea foam, The songs of joy, of tenderness — of home. Frank C. Steele The Herald, Lethbridge, Aim, Canada