Defenders of Democracy: Contributions from representative men and women of letters and other arts from our allies and our own country, edited by the Gift book committee of the Militia of MercyMilitia of Mercy (U.S.). Gift Book Committee
History
Defenders of Democracy: Contributions from representative men and women of letters and other arts from our allies and our own country, edited by the Gift book committee of the Militia of Mercy
Militia of Mercy (U.S.). Gift Book Committee
Gift books; World War, 1914-1918; World War, 1914-1918 -- Gift books
Her knowledge of the home habits of the male biped she gleaned from
the telltale hints of the inanimate garments that passed through
her nimble hands. She could even tell character and personality
from deductions gathered at heel and toe. She knew, for example,
that F.C. (in black ink) was an indefatigable fox trotter and she
dubbed him Ferdy Cahn, though his name, for all she knew, might
have been Frank Callahan. The dancing craze, incidentally, had
added mountainous stacks to Martha's already heaped up bins.
The Elite Laundry served every age and sex. But Martha's department
was, perforce, the unwed male section. No self-respecting wife
or mother would allow laundry-darned hose or shirts to reflect on
her housekeeping habits. And what woman, ultra-modern though she
be, would permit machine-mended stockings to desecrate her bureau
drawers? So it was that Martha ministered, for the most part, to
those boarding house bachelors living within delivery-wagon proximity
to the Elite Laundry.
It was early in May that Martha first began to notice the white
lisle socks marked E.G. She picked them from among the great heap
at her work table because of the exquisite fineness of the darning
that adorned them. It wasn't merely darning. It was embroidery.
It was weaving. It was cobweb tapestry. It blended in with the
original fabric so intimately that it required an expert eye to
mark where darning finished and cloth began. Martha regarded it
with appreciation unmarred by envy, as the artisan eye regards the
work of the artist.
"That's his mother's darning," she thought, as she smoothed it with
one work-scarred finger. "And she doesn't live here in Chicago. No,
sir! It takes a small town mother to have the time and patience for
that kind of work. She's the kind whose kitchen smells of ginger
cookies on Saturday mornings. And I'll bet if she ever found a
moth in the attic she'd call the fire department. He's her only
son. And he's come to the city to work. And his name--his name
is Eddie."
And Eddie he remained for the months that followed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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