Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- Periodicals
Mrs. Tarbell had never a word to say. In spite of having triumphed over
all the arguments, both those epicene and those particularly masculine,
which had been used against herself, she had not now the strength of
mind to use them in her turn. In spite of being a lawyer, she had a
conscience. She had looked forward to taking students, but they were all
to have been Portias, every woman Jane of them; and before her own
learning was fairly dry (which I think an eminently proper adjective to
describe legal learning) there appeared to her an obviously
crack-brained old party in an india-rubber cloak, who kept a candy-store
and wanted her daughter to become a lawyer. No wonder Mrs. Tarbell was
embarrassed. Was she to say to the crack-brained one, "Madam, pay me one
hundred dollars per annum and I will take your daughter as a student"?
On the other hand, how in the name of that Orloff, that Pitt, that
Kohinoor diamond among precious virtues, consistency, was she to go so
far as even to hint to Mrs. Stiles that any woman couldn't be a lawyer?
As Mrs. Tarbell hesitated, she began to fear she was lost.
"Celandine is a real bright girl," said Mrs. Stiles, who had now
regained her breath. Was this the woman who had knocked so timidly at
the door? "Celandine is a _real_ bright girl; her mind is thorough,
logical, and comprehensive,--that's what Professor Jamieson said, up to
the High School. Them was his very words. Celandine is to graduate this
year: she's in the class with girls two and three years older than
herself, Mrs. Tarbell. It was a terrible strain on me to keep her at
school, ma'am, and again and _again_ I've thought I couldn't stand it,
what with her being in the shop only in the afternoon, and the washing,
and trying to keep her clothes always nice; though she's been as good as
_gold_,--making _all_ her dresses her_self_, and wearing a calico till
you'd have thought the stitches would have dropped right _out_ of it.
And she's ambitious, as I say. She don't seem to be able to face the
idea of going into a store; and, oh, dear me! they're terrible places,
those big stores, for girls. They're as bad as the factories; and
_often_ and _often_ when I see those poor creatures that stand behind
counters all day coming home at night and thinking so much about the way
their hair's done, and then consider what slaves they are, and what
they're exposed to, and how many wicked people are on the watch to work
them to death for no pay at all, and bully them, and to lead them all
wrong, if they can, why, it just makes me think how _sensible_ the good
Lord is, that he's able to take care of them so well and look after them
as much as he does. Professor Jamieson has been as kind as could _be_
about Celandine, and said he'd try to get a place for her as teacher;
but you can't do that, you know, Mrs. Tarbell, not onless you've got
friends in politics; and I haven't, not one. And a governess ain't often
asked for; and you need influence for that, too.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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