One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was inpennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and thevegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheeks burned with the silentimputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Dellacounted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would beChristmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch andhowl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is madeup of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage tothe second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It didnot exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookoutfor the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and anelectric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Alsoappertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name “Mr. James DillinghamYoung.”
The “Dillingham” had been flung to the breeze during a formerperiod of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, whenthe income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously ofcontracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James DillinghamYoung came home and reached his flat above he was called “Jim” andgreatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you asDella. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. Shestood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence ina gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 withwhich to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could formonths, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenseshad been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy apresent for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning forsomething nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling—somethingjust a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen apier glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observinghis reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairlyaccurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes wereshining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds.Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which theyboth took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been hisfather’s and his grandfather’s. The other was Della’s hair.Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would havelet her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate HerMajesty’s jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with allhis treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watchevery time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like acascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost agarment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once shefaltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the wornred carpet.
On went her old brown ja