The Benson signal., 1917-11-24

mean you're going back to the shop
this afternoon?"
Portia nodded, pulled back her chair
abruptly, and sat down.
II thought that on Saturday :"
her mother began.
"Oh, know" said Portia, "but that
girl I've got isn't much good"
You'd have known them for mother
and daughter anywhere, and you'd
have had trouble finding any point Of
resemblance in either of them to the
Amazonian young thing who had so
nearly thrown a Street-car conductor
into the street the night before.
The mothers hair was very soft and
white, and the care with which it was
arranged indicated a certain harmless
vanity in it. There was something a
little conscious, too, about her dress.
If you took it in connection with a
certain resolute amiability about her
smile, you would be entirely prepared
to hear her tell Portia that she was to
talk on Modern Tendencies" before
the Pierian club this afternoon.
A very real person, nevertheless
you couldn't doubt that. The marks of
passionately held beliefs and eagerly
given sacrifices were etched with un-
deniable authenticity in her face.
Once you got beyond a catalogue of
features, Portia presented rather a
striking contrast to this. Her hair
was done with severity that was
fairly hostile. Her clothes were
brusQuely worn. her smile, if not ill
natured-it wasn't that-was distinct
ly ironic. A very competent, good
looking young woman, just now droop-
ing little over the cold lunch.
$50 Rose didn't come down this
morning at all. Nothing particular the
matter with her, is there?" asked Por-
tia.
There was enough real concern in
her voice to save the question from
sounding satirical, but her mothers S
manner was a little apologize when
she answered it.
'No, I think not" she said. "But
she was in such a state when she
came home last night-literally wet
through to the skin, and blue with
cold. So thought it. wouldn't do any
harm.
"Of course not" said Portia.
"Rose is all right. She won't spoil
badly"
''I'm a little bit worried about the
loss Of the Door child'S notebooks -
said her mother.
81 don't believe Rose is worrying
her head off about them," said Portia.
The flush in her mothers cheeks
deepened little, but it was no long
er apologetic. 81 don't think you're
quite fair to Rose, about her studies, ="
she said. eff she doesn't seem always
to appreciate her privilege in getting a
college education as seriously as she
should, you should remember her
youth. She's only twenty"
"I'm sorry, MOTHER" Portia inter-
rupted contritely. 81 didn't mean any
harm anyway. Didn't she say the
mans name was Rodney Aldrich?"
81 think so," her mother agreed.
"Something like that"
"It's rather funny" said Portia.
TITS hardly likely to have been the
real Rodney Aldrich. Yet it's not a
common name"
''The real Rodney Aldrich?" ques-
toned her mother. But, without wait
ing for her daughters elucidation Of
the phrase, she added, "Oh, there's
Rose"
The girl came up behind Portia and
enveloped her in a big, lazy hug. "Back
to work another Saturday afternoon,
Angels" she asked coMmiseratingly.
"Aren't you ever going to stop and
have any fun?" Then she slumped
into chair, heaved a yawning sigh,
and rubbed her eyes.
"Tired, dear?" asked her mother.
She said it under her breath in the
hope that Portia wouldn't hear.
"No," said Rose. "Just sleepy!"
She yawned again, turned to Portia,
and, somewhat to their surprise, said: {:
"Yes, what do you mean-the real
Rodney Aldrich? He looked real
enough to me. And his arm felt real
the one he was going to punch the
conductor with"
II didn't mean he was imaginary"
Portia explained. II only meant
didn't believe it was the Rodney
Aldrich-who's so awfully prominent; !;
either somebody else who happened
RI hou ho
who just-said that was his name"
"What's the matter with the promi-
nent One?" Rose wanted to know.
"Why couldn't it have been he?"
Portia admitted that it could, so far
as that went, but insisted on an in