Plain Jane and pretty Betty

To say that Aunt Lou was surprised at this change in her sober little mouse would not adequately express her state of mind as she stared at Jane.

“Of course I know who you are!” she cried. “You’re Jane Cross and one of the best and dearest girls alive.”

Jane shook her head gaily.

“That’s only half of it,” she cried. “Try again!”

Mrs. Powell was so completely puzzled that Jane decided to keep her in suspense no longer.

She pushed the bundles aside so as to make room for herself on the kitchen table; then sat on the edge of the table, one foot swinging.

“It’s so simple I must have been sound asleep not to think of it long ago,” she said. “Aunt Lou, I’ve decided to be a business woman!”

“A—what?” gasped Mrs. Powell.

“Well, anyway, a business girl,” Jane compromised. “Yes, ma’am, I’m going to get a job, and I think I’ll start out looking for it no later than to-morrow morning. Now, Mrs. Powell, what have you got to say to that?”

This was such a different Jane that the poor lady was utterly bewildered.

“Why, Jane dear, what can you do? A girl like you? Why,” protesting, “you’re scarcely more than a child!”

“I’m sixteen, if I don’t look it,” Jane said stoutly. “And I’m sure there ought to be something I can do in this town, if I only find out what it is. Anyway,” the swinging foot stopped swinging and Jane looked suddenly very sober, “I can’t be a drag on you and Uncle Dink when you have been so kind to me. Don’t you suppose,” she added quickly when Mrs. Powell would have interrupted, “that I know what you were crying about when I came in? You were worried because expenses are going on just the same and there is no money coming in to meet them. Well, I’m going out and make some money!”

It was a valiant resolve, but when Jane thought of actually putting it into practice she quailed.

She was so shy and sensitive that it was actual pain for her to meet strangers. The thought of asking any one of these for work filled her with dread.

Still, it seemed the only thing for her to do.

“I’ll be killing three birds with one stone if I can only get work somewhere,” she thought. “First of all, I can help Aunt Lou. Then I can show that Betty Browning that I am somebody, even though she thinks she can talk to me as if I were some sort of bug. And then,” color tinged her face and her eyes began to shine with the thought, “maybe I can put a little bit aside to help Billy get out his invention. I don’t think he’d mind taking help from plain Jane, especially if he knew how happy it made her to be able to help him. Anyway,” with a resolution that made her heart thump wildly, “I’m going to try!”

When Mr. Powell heard of Jane’s determination, his round, good-natured face shone with something more than gratitude and he proposed three cheers and a tiger in a husky voice.

“It won’t be for long, Jane,” he told the girl, regarding his bandaged hands ruefully. “I’ll get a job again pretty soon, and then you can give yours up. You’re a plucky youngster and a good one. You’ll make good in anything you try, Jane Cross.”

It was a great occasion, that Monday on which Jane started to look for work.

Mrs. Powell, good soul, had spent two whole days making a dress which she said would “look modest and businesslike and, at the same time, not too plain,” and the seeking for a position had been postponed until this should be finished.

The effect was not bad, considering the fact that the dress had originally been one of Mrs. Powell’s, new three seasons back. It was of gray, light-weight jersey and was made on long boyish lines that suited Jane.

Mrs. Powell had found an old hat, too, which she and Jane remodeled rather cleverly. It was small and fitted Jane’s sleek head closely, giving her a well-groomed look.

Then the Monday morning came that they had set for the great attempt.

Jane’s new things were hung as carefully in her neat bare closet as though they had just come from a Fifth Avenue fashion shop, and it is safe to say that Jane prized them almost as much as though they had been of such aristocratic origin.

It was a long time since she had had anything she thought so pretty as that simple gray jersey frock and the close-fitting hat.

“I’ll feel quite grown up,” she said, as she did up buttons with fingers that trembled on that eventful Monday morning. “Oh, I do hope nobody guesses that I’m barely sixteen! I’m sure I look much older than that!”

She did not look even that, however, and for all her hopeful speech, she knew it. But her very youth was appealing and could be counted on to plead for her far more effectively than any number of added years could have done.

When the gray dress had been put on and adjusted to a nicety, Jane regarded herself in the glass.

Her hair was mussed a little and she smoothed it to a glossier neatness. Her face was flushed with excitement and her eyes sparkled.

She put on the little hat, pulled it far down over her hair, then went to the head of the stairs and called Mrs. Powell.

The latter came, hands sudsy with dish water, to “pass on Jane.”

Her first glance was one of pleasure and astonishment.

“I declare to goodness, Jane, you’re certainly good to look at!” she said. “And smart, too, in that dress, if I do say it of my own dressmaking!”

Mr. Powell was brought in to marvel and to praise, which he did with such heartiness that Jane glowed with happiness and felt a new confidence in herself.

“I’ll bring home a job to-night,” she told them, laughing. “The new dress is bound to bring good luck!”

Poor Jane! She was soon to find that getting work was a much more difficult matter than she supposed it would be.

First, there was Haley’s tea room to visit.

This place, just opened and trying to be as smart as its city cousins, was actually more restaurant than tea room. One could have eaten three good meals a day there and have been satisfied—which is proof that the name “tea room” did not adequately describe it. Jane thought she could be a waitress. Not so much to being a waitress—just a matter of wearing a black dress and a smart white apron and cap and passing around good things on a tray to hungry people. Jane thought she could learn the trick quickly and be a very good waitress. She supposed that sort of work brought very little money to begin with, but then, if she looked sharp and proved herself reliable, she might find herself in the position of head-waitress and from that on up to—well, who knew what?

Jane did not, nor did she know many other things that she was to learn within the next few hours.

The shop was on Main street, about two blocks west of Rose Hill.

Jane had to pass Mason’s grocery store on the way. She saw Billy through the plate-glass door and nodded gaily. She might soon have good news for Billy!

There was the tea shop.

She opened the door with her first feeling of timidity.

Whom did one approach, she wondered, on an errand of this sort? It was all very bewildering.

Jane hesitated within the door of the shop.

There were several people at the daintily appointed tables and some looked curiously at Jane. Among those who did not look at Jane at all, was Betty Browning.

Betty appeared to be having either a late breakfast or an early lunch of cinnamon rolls and coffee. There were deep circles under her eyes and she buttered a roll absently as though her mind were miles away.

If Jane had needed anything to stiffen her courage, the sight of Betty was enough. She lifted her chin and marched straight to the rear of the store where a self-sufficient young person was sitting behind a counter and a wire cage.

“I’d like to get work here,” Jane said in a steady voice to this young person. “Do you know where I can ask about it?”

The girl behind the counter treated Jane to a cool, appraising gaze; then rose and opened a door marked “Office. Private.”

She disappeared, leaving Jane to stand there, feeling hot and cold by turns.