Horatio Alger - Helen Ford

Helen, meanwhile, was becoming daily more and more troubled in mind. Her father was so wrapped up in his model that he could think of nothing else. To her, accordingly, had been committed the common purse, and upon her had devolved the duty of providing for their daily wants, as well as discharging the rent which was due once in four weeks. She therefore knew more of their pecuniary condition than her father. She had been repeatedly alarmed at the rapid diminution of the funds placed in her hands, and this, notwithstanding she exercised the strictest economy in all their expenses. For some time, as we have seen, she had eked out their scanty means by working for the slop-shops. Now, however, there was a lull in the clothing business, and this resource was temporarily cut off. How heavily upon the young and inexperienced falls the burden of pecuniary trouble! Helen saw with a feeling of dismay that a few weeks would find their means exhausted. What would become of them then, she did not dare to think. If only her father’s invention could be completed before that time, she thought, in her simplicity, that all would be well. Of the long years before even a successful invention can be made profitable, she knew nothing. She trusted implicitly to her father’s confident assurances, and never doubted that some time they would become rich through his discovery. This consideration, however, did not afford her present relief. Although her father labored assiduously, it did not appear to her unpractised eye that he was any nearer the end than he had been six months before. Confident as she was of his final success, the question how they should live in the mean time assumed grave importance, and occasioned her not a little perplexity.

If Helen could have shared her doubts and anxieties with some one who might have sympathized with her, she would have felt less troubled. But there seemed to be no one to whom she could speak freely. She was only too anxious to keep it from her father, who, she felt instinctively, could give her little or no assistance. She thought of speaking to Mrs. Morton, but the fear lest, if she should acknowledge her poverty, the latter might be unwilling to allow them to retain their room any longer, restrained her.

We have before mentioned the humble seamstress, Martha Grey, who occupied the room beneath that of Mr. Ford. Though plain in appearance, and of quiet demeanor, Helen had been attracted by the expression of goodness which lighted up her face. Sometimes, when her father seemed wholly immersed in his labors, she would steal down stairs and spend a quiet hour in Martha’s company.

On one of these occasions Martha had a visitor. Although introduced as a cousin, one could scarcely imagine a greater contrast than existed between her and Martha. Her dress was more showy than tasteful, and evidently occupied a large share of her attention. She was employed in a millinery establishment where she earned good wages,—twice as much as Martha,—but saved nothing, expending everything upon personal adornment. She lacked entirely the refinement and quiet dignity of her cousin. In spite of her humble circumstances, Martha would have been recognized by any one possessing discernment as a lady. Her cousin, in spite of her dress, was never in any danger of being mistaken for one. Her manner towards Martha, however, was a patronizing one, and she evidently considered herself as occupying a much higher position than the seamstress.

“I am astonished, Martha,” said she, glancing contemptuously at the plain room, and plainer furniture, “that you should be willing to live in such a hole. I believe if I was cooped up here I should die of loneliness in less than a week.”

“I find it very comfortable,” said Martha, composedly.

“Yes, I suppose it will do. It will keep out the rain and wind, and is better than nothing, of course. But I want something better than that.”

“I am very well contented,” said Martha, “and even if I were not, I could afford no better.”

“Do you stay here all the time? Don’t you ever go to concerts or the theatre?”

“No.”

“What a humdrum life you must lead! It’s Wednesday afternoon. Suppose we go to the theatre. There’s going to be a splendid play.”

Martha hesitated.

There is so little to excite or interest in the monotonous life of a hard-working seamstress, that she really longed to throw aside the needle, and accept her cousin’s invitation.

“I should like to go,” she said at length, “but I am afraid I ought not to spend either the time or the money.”

“Then I’ll make you a fair offer. If you’ll spare the time, I’ll spare the money. I’ll buy the tickets. Won’t you go, too?” she continued, turning to Helen. “I’ll pay for you.”

Helen looked at Martha who nodded kindly, and said, “Did you ever go to the theatre, Helen!”

“No, Martha.”

“Then you had better come. You can come back with me.”

“Thank you,” said Helen. “I will see if father needs me.”

She hastened up stairs, but found that her father, absorbed in his engrossing employment, had not even been aware of her absence.

“Do you think you can spare me for two or three hours, papa?” she asked. “I have been invited to go out.”

She had to repeat the question before her father comprehended.

“Go, by all means, my dear child,” he answered. “I am afraid you confine yourself too much on my account.”

Helen was soon ready. She went out with Martha Grey and her cousin, and a few minutes found them standing before a large building with a spacious entrance.

“This is the theatre,” said Martha, addressing herself to Helen.

Helen little thought of the consequences that were to follow this—her first entrance within the walls of a theatre.

Seated in the theatre, Helen looked about her in bewilderment. She had never been within the walls of a theatre. In the street the sun shone brightly. Here the sun was rigorously excluded, and gas took its place. It seemed to the unsophisticated child like a sudden leap from noon to night. She could hear the rumbling of vehicles in the streets, but it appeared to her, somehow, as if they were far away, and that she had come into a different world. She wondered what there was behind that broad green curtain in front, and why the lights should be arranged so oddly at the foot of it.

“Lor’, child, that’s the stage,” was the lucid explanation of Martha’s cousin, to whom she applied for information. “Haven’t you ever been to the theatre before?”

“No, never,” said Helen.

The cousin looked at her with some curiosity, as if there must be something out of the common way about a person who had never been to the theatre, and expressed her decided conviction that Helen’s education had been shockingly neglected.

“Why,” said she, “before I was half as high as you, I had been to the theatre ever so many times.”

She spoke with so much complacency that Helen imagined she must be a very superior person, and possessed great knowledge of the world.

While these and other thoughts were passing through her mind, the bell rang twice, and then the curtain rose.

Helen nearly uttered an exclamation of surprise, so unprepared was she for the spectacle which was presented to her dazzled gaze. The play was a fairy extravaganza, which depended for its success chiefly upon scenery and stage effect. In the first scene was represented the palace of the Queen of the fairies, crowning the summit of a hill, rising in the centre of a beautiful island. Above floated fleecy clouds, from a break in which streamed the sunshine, lending its glory to the scene.

In the foreground stood a circle of children about Helen’s age or younger, who figured as sylphs. With united voices they sang a song in honor of the Queen of the fairies, who directly afterwards was seen floating through the air above the stage, arrayed in such style as seemed befitting her illustrious rank.