Plain Jane and pretty Betty

Betty was about to call out a greeting to her father when something stopped her. That something was the sight of her father bending over a desk and smiling into the delighted eyes of—“that girl!”

For in the flash of a second Betty recognized in her father’s assistant that awfully plain girl who was always stumbling against people and knocking bundles out of their hands!

She was not so awfully plain now, though, thought Betty, and was suddenly conscious of a keen stab of jealousy.

“What right has that girl to look at my dad like that!” her jealousy whispered.

As a matter of fact, neither Jane nor Mr. Browning was aware of Betty’s presence at the moment. In fact, Jane was living through one of the most wonderful moments of her life.

Just a short time before Mr. Browning had said with that nice look in his tired eyes:

“I believe you know almost more of the business than I do, Miss Cross. You are a born realtor. You are so full of enthusiasm that you communicate it to our customers. I’ve kept tabs on you, young lady, and I know that you have brought actual business into this office, and that that business is computed in terms of gratifying profit on our books. We are doing well—better than I dared to hope. Now, under the circumstances, what do you think I ought to do about it?”

Jane, who had flushed beneath her employer’s commendation, smiled demurely at this.

“I really—don’t know,” she said, and tried not to look as pleased and proud as she felt.

“Well then, I’ll tell you.”

It was at this point that Mr. Browning rose and went over to her desk—yes, Jane had risen to the dignity of a desk of her own by this time—and it was at this point also that Betty chanced to come into the office.

“The first thing I’m going to do,” Betty heard her father’s pleasant voice say, “is to raise your salary five dollars a week.”

“Mr. Browning, that—that’s marvelous!” There was a choke of sheer joy in Jane’s voice.

But Mr. Browning raised a hand and smiled.

“But that isn’t all,” he said. “I’ve noticed, too, that you have a knack in handling people, of getting a lot out of them without letting them guess it. I don’t know whether you’ve guessed what a valuable asset that is in the real estate business, but it is extremely valuable just the same—especially when it comes to a question of collecting rents.”

Jane sat very still and looked at him.

Betty stood very still and looked at him, too. Probably that is the reason Mr. Browning and Jane remained unaware of her presence.

“How would you like to have a rent route to collect?” asked Jane’s employer, smiling at her just as calmly as if he were not paying her the greatest compliment in his power. “That will mean a small percentage on all the rents you collect—just a little encouragement for you to use all your tact on those slippery customers who invariably run and hide the moment a rent-collector shows his—or her—nose about the corner. Come now—what do you say?”

Jane drew a long breath.

“Say!” she repeated. “What can I say except that you are giving me the chance of a lifetime, and I—when shall I start?”

Mr. Browning laughed and broke the tension.

Betty started forward from her place beside the door.

“Dad!” she cried.

Mr. Browning wheeled about and his face lit up with pleasure at the unexpected visit.

Jane, who had flushed a bright red upon recognizing Betty, busied herself absorbedly with the papers on her desk.

But after his first greeting of his daughter, Mr. Browning showed no intention of leaving Jane out of things. He drew Betty, the latter reluctant but not quite liking to protest, over to Jane’s desk and introduced the two girls.

There was the barest conventional murmur from Jane accompanied by a steady look at Betty that showed her on the defensive. From Betty a condescending nod and a frigid, “Charmed, I’m sure!” that etched a line between her father’s brows.

Then Betty promptly and pointedly ignored the plain girl. It was time, she thought, to teach that girl a lesson, to put her in her place! So Betty perched herself like a charming butterfly on the edge of her father’s desk and chatted merrily.

She found her father disappointing. He did not play up to her mood. After his first pleased greeting of her he became moody and distrait and did not seem to hear half of what she said.

When Betty taxed him with this a little pettishly he looked up at her and smiled, the old patient, tired look in his eyes.

“You’ll have to bear with me, my dear,” he said. “It’s been a very busy day and there is still a great deal to do before I can relax. Just a moment, daughter.”

He swung about in his chair and his glance fell on Jane. The girl met his look, smiled and half rose.

“Do you want me to see Mr. Bleeker now and arrange for his lease?” she asked, in her clear bright voice.

“If you please.” Another sharp pang of jealousy stabbed Betty as she saw how the tired look left her father’s eyes as he spoke to this other girl, how his shoulders straightened and the years seemed to fall from him.

“And while you’re out, Miss Cross, you might just scout about a bit and get used to your rent route. You won’t be able to do much to-day—in the way of collecting rents I mean—although you might try your hand at it if you like. Here, I’ll give you that list of addresses——”

“But Mrs. Buell, who was coming in to-day to arrange terms for the Haddock house——”

“Don’t worry.” Mr. Browning smiled teasingly at Jane, thought Betty, as her small foot in the pretty suede slipper tapped the floor. There was an air of comradery, of perfect understanding, between these two that puzzled Betty as much as it angered her.

“I’ll take care of Mrs. Buell; though I admit I probably shan’t be able to handle her as well as you. Still, I’ll do my best! Meanwhile, here’s the list of the tenements you will have to visit. I’m afraid you won’t find it the finest or most exclusive neighborhood in Greenville.”

So, on and on, with their heads close together while Betty must sit in idleness and simulated patience while that plain Jane Cross monopolized her father!

There—it was over at last!

Jane slipped into her shabby old coat, crushed the shabby old hat down over her shining hair, and, laughing, thrust the paper of addresses into her pocket.

“I’ll do my best,” she said, in answer to some remark of her employer. “And if I don’t come back with more money than I’m taking away with me, it certainly won’t be my fault!”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” murmured Betty, her head in the air as a draught of cold air advertised Jane’s exit into the street. “From the look of her she couldn’t very well have less money than she has right now.”

Mr. Browning turned his slow, thoughtful gaze upon his daughter. Betty, for some reason she could not understand, became restless and ill-at-ease under the scrutiny.

“Why do you look at me like that, daddy?” she pettishly broke out at last. “Is there anything wrong with my clothes?”

“No,” said Mr. Browning. His eyes were very weary again, a little quizzical. “I was merely thinking, Bettykin, how impossible it would have been for Jane Cross to have made a remark like that one of yours a moment ago.”

“Jane Cross!” Betty jumped to her feet, her hands clenched at her side, her pretty mouth hard with sudden fury. “I suppose that plain-faced, frumpy-looking girl is everything fine and wonderful! I suppose you’d like to have a girl like that for your daughter!”

The eyes of father and daughter met. Betty’s were the first to waver and fall before that encounter.

“Jane Cross is the salt of the earth,” said Mr. Browning quietly. “She is the kind of girl who goes around making the world a better and happier place for the rest of us to live in. If she wears shabby clothes, it is because she loves others a little better than herself. Her clothes make no difference to me, nor to any one else who really knows her. Pretty clothes are a good thing to have, but a heart and courage like Jane’s are a better thing. Think it over, Bettykin—it’s true.”

Betty ran out of the office then with a hand childishly covering her ears as though she could not bear to hear another word.

The unbelievable had happened. She had gone to conquer and had come away conquered! Jane Cross in her shabby clothes with her plain face was strong where she, Betty Browning, was weak. Betty was tasting defeat, and at first it made her bitter.

She got home and walked the floor thinking of Jane Cross and hating her.

Jane had turned her father against her! Jane was responsible for everything! Her father, her beloved dad, had actually held this plain-faced chit up to her, Betty, as an example to be followed! Oh, it was dreadful, incredible!

Then she thought of how hard she had tried to gain her father’s love and complete confidence and sat down in his favorite easy chair and cried.

The tears softened Betty’s anger, and gradually a different mood came to her.

By the time Mr. Browning came home that night she had definitely decided what she would do.

“Dad,” she said, meeting him at the door, “I—I want a job!”