CHAPTER IV

“Gotyourrubberson?”calledCousinStickles,asValancyleftthehouse. ChristineStickleshadneveronceforgottentoaskthatquestionwhenValancywentoutonadampday. “Yes.” “Haveyougotyourflannelpetticoaton?”askedMrs.Frederick. “No.” “Doss,Ireallydonotunderstandyou.Doyouwanttocatchyourdeathofcoldagain?”HervoiceimpliedthatValancyhaddiedofacoldseveraltimesalready.“Goupstairsthisminuteandputiton!” “Mother,Idon’tneedaflannelpetticoat.Mysateenoneiswarmenough.” “Doss,rememberyouhadbronchitistwoyearsago.Goanddoasyouaretold!” Valancywent,thoughnobodywilleverknowjusthownearshecametohurlingtherubber-plantintothestreetbeforeshewent.Shehatedthatgreyflannelpetticoatmorethananyothergarmentsheowned.Oliveneverhadtowearflannelpetticoats.Oliveworeruffledsilkandsheerlawnandfilmylacedflounces.ButOlive’sfatherhad“marriedmoney”andOliveneverhadbronchitis.Sothereyouwere. “Areyousureyoudidn’tleavethesoapinthewater?”demandedMrs.Frederick.ButValancywasgone.Sheturnedatthecornerandlookedbackdowntheugly,prim,respectablestreetwhereshelived.TheStirlinghousewastheugliestonit—morelikearedbrickboxthananythingelse.Toohighforitsbreadth,andmadestillhigherbyabulbousglasscupolaontop.Aboutitwasthedesolate,barrenpeaceofanoldhousewhoselifeislived. Therewasaveryprettylittlehouse,withleadedcasementsanddubbedgables,justaroundthecorner—anewhouse,oneofthosehousesyoulovetheminuteyouseethem.ClaytonMarkleyhadbuiltitforhisbride.HewastobemarriedtoJennieLloydinJune.Thelittlehouse,itwassaid,wasfurnishedfromattictocellar,incompletereadinessforitsmistress. “Idon’tenvyJennietheman,”thoughtValancysincerely—ClaytonMarkleywasnotoneofhermanyideals—“butIdoenvyherthehouse.It’ssuchaniceyounghouse.