Harriet turned on the vacuum.
After changing into more comfortable clothes Mrs. Bridge wandered to the kitchen, fixed a sandwich for herself, and sat in the breakfast room for about an hour watching the sparrows in the garden. Finally she managed to get Madge Arlen on the telephone.
“Lord, I’m glad you called!” her friend exclaimed. “I’m out of my wits for something to do.”
“Come on over this minute,” said Mrs. Bridge.
“Are you in the same fix?”
“I should say I am!”
And now the day took shape and Mrs. Bridge was no longer embarrassed. She had found she was not alone, and if others felt as she felt there was no reason to be depressed. The hours no longer loomed ahead; it was just another warm June day. A few minutes later Madge Arlen was coming in the front door, wearing a loose lavender gaucho blouse, chartreuse slacks, and cork wedgies that made her nearly six feet tall. She was smoking one of the English cigarettes she liked but which were now so hard to obtain. Harriet made some coffee, for Madge Arlen drank coffee all day, and they sat on the porch and talked. The British were concluding the evacuation of Dunkirk, and for a while Mrs. Bridge and Madge Arlen discussed the war,
“So many of the boys are joining up/’ Mrs. Bridge remarked. “It certainly changes things. I notice the difference everywhere. Piggly Wiggly still delivers, thank heavens, but the service is so much slower than it used to be and I was so surprised the other morning to see they have a girl driving the truck/’
“Just wait till Congress passes a draft law. Lord, we’ll see the difference then!”
“Oh, I hope not! I’m sure the war will be over soon, and of course we’re doing everything humanly possible to stay out of it.”
And they talked about people they knew. Grace Barren’s son, David, had been taking violin lessons for a number of years and wanted to make a career of music. His father disapproved of this and, as everyone knew, the Barrons were not getting along well. Madge Arlen mentioned that the situation was worse.
“Being a professional musician does sound exciting/’ Mrs. Bridge observed. “But I just wonder how practical it would be. Oh, my word, it’s four o’clock already! I don’t know about you, Madge, but I’m simply famished.”
They went to the kitchen and Mrs. Bridge looked into the refrigerator.
“Strawberries and whipped cream?” she suggested. “These are frozen, of course. They don’t really taste the same as the fresh, but they certainly are a time-saver.”
98. Reflections on Montaigne
The Tattler killed many an interminable hour. She read it, not avidly, but thoroughly, from Bancroft’s full-page ad in-side the front cover to Mr. Alexander’s striking floral ad on the back.
Of all the things in The Tattler she was most impressed with the philosophy. Between snapshots of country-club residents enjoying themselves at their favorite swimming pool, or on the golf links, and items of gossip regarding prominent Kansas Citians, the editors of The Tattler customarily sandwiched a thought or two preferably cheerful, affirmative at the very least. Emerson and Saint Francis were frequent con-tributors; Oliver Wendell Holmes was a great favorite. The observations of such eminent men were set in italics and were apt to be followed by, “I wonder if the scion of a certain well-known famille doesn’t realize his many conquests are causing talk among the younger set.”
Mrs. Bridge, being considerably interested in these maxims, had at one point thought of beginning a nice scrapbook with the idea of handing it on to the children. Though she had not found time for this she continued to try to memorize certain quotations, despite the fact that there never seemed to be an appropriate occasion to re-quote them. A line from Montaigne set her to thinking.
I have always observed a singular accord between super-celestial ideas and subterranean behavior.
In less crystalline style she had observed somewhat the same thing and was puzzled by it: she recalled the strange case of Dr. Foster, who had been positively identified at the burlesque, not once which could have been attributed to his gathering material for a sermon but several times. Furthermore he never mentioned it.
Over the wisdom of Montaigne she brooded, eventually reaching the conclusion that if super-celestial ideas were necessarily accompanied by subterranean behavior it might be better to forego them both.
99. Gloves
She looked forward to Saturdays because on that day she was occupied with the distribution of used clothing at the Auxiliary charity center on Ninth Street. Usually she went with Madge Arlen. One week they would drive to work in the Arlens’ Chrysler, the next week in the Lincoln, and when it was Mrs. Bridge’s turn she drew up before the garage where her husband parked. There she honked the horn, or beckoned if someone happened to be in sight, and shortly an attendant whose name was Hal would come out of the garage buttoning on a white duster and he would ride in the rear seat to the charity center. There he would jump out and open the door for Mrs. Bridge, and after that he would drive the Lincoln back to the garage because she did not like it left on the street in such a neighborhood.
“Suppose you come by for us around six, or six-fifteen- ish, Hal/’ she would say.
He always answered that he would be glad to, touched the visor of his cap, and drove away.
“He seems so nice/’ said Mrs. Arlen as the two of them walked into the center.
“Oh, he is!” Mrs. Bridge agreed. “He’s one of the nicest garage men I’ve ever had.”
“How long have you been parking there?’
“Quite some time. We used to park at that dreadful place on Walnut/’
“The one with the popcorn machine? Lord, isn’t that the limit?”
“No, not that place. The one with the Italians. You know how my husband is about Italians. Well, that just seemed to be headquarters for them. They flocked in there by the dozen to eat their lunch and listen to some opera broadcast from New York. It was just impossible. So finally Walter said, Tm going to change garages/ So we did/’
The charity center had not yet been opened for the day. Mrs. Bridge and Mrs. Arlen walked between the counters piled high with sour, unwashed clothing, past the reform-school boys who were emptying sacks of clothing on the floor, and continued into the back room, which was reserved for Auxiliary members. Lois Montgomery was there, and Mabel Ong and Rebecca Duncan, along with several other ladies. They were having coffee and eclairs as they always did before starting work. Mrs. Bridge and Mrs. Arlen joined them.
After a while the doors were unlocked and the first of the poor entered. Behind the counters waiting to assist them were Mrs. Bridge and her friends, all wearing gloves.
1OO Marching with Dr. Foster
For a few months Grace Barron worked at the charity center; then she quit, abruptly, without offering an explanation. Mrs. Bridge was hurt by this, for it seemed un-like Grace Barron to be inconsiderate. Then, too, Mrs. Bridge reflected, she had always been so concerned about the welfare of others; still she did have streaks of peculiarity, as, for instance, her attitude toward Dr. Foster, whom Mrs. Bridge considered not only one of the nicest men she had ever met, but also one of the most intelligent. Grace, in-explicably, was amused by Dr. Foster.