Diantha flushed a little. "No, mother, of course not. But I am keeping very full reports of all the work. Just the schedule of labor—the hours—the exact things done. One laundress, with machinery, can wash for thirty-five, (its only six a day you see), and the amount is regulated; about six dozen a day, and all the flat work mangled.
"In a Girl's Club alone the cook has all day off, as it were; she can do the down stairs cleaning. And the two maids have only table service and bedrooms."
"Thirty-five bedrooms?"
"Yes. But two girls together, who know how, can do a room in 8 minutes—easily. They are small and simple you see. Make the bed, shake the mats, wipe the floors and windows,—you watch them!"
"I have watched them," the mother admitted. "They are as quick as—as mill-workers!"
"Well," pursued Diantha, "they spend three hours on dishes and tables, and seven on cleaning. The bedrooms take 280 minutes; that's nearly five hours. The other two are for the bath rooms, halls, stairs, downstairs windows, and so on. That's all right. Then I'm keeping the menus—just what I furnish and what it costs. Anybody could order and manage when it was all set down for her. And you see—as you have figured it—they'd have over $500 leeway to buy the furniture if they were allowed to."
"Yes," Mrs. Bell admitted, "if the rent was what you allow, and if they all work all the time!"
"That's the hitch, of course. But mother; the girls who don't have steady jobs do work by the hour, and that brings in more, on the whole. If they are the right kind they can make good. If they find anyone who don't keep her job—for good reasons—they can drop her."
"M'm!" said Mrs. Bell. "Well, it's an interesting experiment. But how about you? So far you are $410 behind."
"Yes, because my rent's so big. But I cover that by letting the rooms, you see."
Mrs. Bell considered the orders of this sort. "So far it averages about $25.00 a week; that's doing well."
"It will be less in summer—much less," Diantha suggested. "Suppose you call it an average of $15.00."
"Call it $10.00," said her mother ruthlessly. "At that it covers your deficit and $110 over."
"Which isn't much to live on," Diantha agreed, "but then comes my special catering, and the lunches."
Here they were quite at sea for a while. But as the months passed, and the work steadily grew on their hands, Mrs. Bell became more and more cheerful. She was up with the earliest, took entire charge of the financial part of the concern, and at last Diantha was able to rest fully in her afternoon hours. What delighted her most was to see her mother thrive in the work. Her thin shoulders lifted a little as small dragging tasks were forgotten and a large growing business substituted. Her eyes grew bright again, she held her head as she did in her keen girlhood, and her daughter felt fresh hope and power as she saw already the benefit of the new method as affecting her nearest and dearest.
All Diantha's friends watched the spread of the work with keenly sympathetic intent; but to Mrs. Weatherstone it became almost as fascinating as to the girl herself.
"It's going to be one of the finest businesses in the world!" she said, "And one of the largest and best paying. Now I'll have a surprise ready for that girl in the spring, and another next year, if I'm not mistaken!"
There were long and vivid discussions of the matter between her and her friends the Pornes, and Mrs. Porne spent more hours in her "drawing room" than she had for years.
But while these unmentioned surprises were pending, Mrs. Weatherstone departed to New York—to Europe; and was gone some months. In the spring she returned, in April—which is late June in Orchardina. She called upon Diantha and her mother at once, and opened her attack.
"I do hope, Mrs. Bell, that you'll back me up," she said. "You have the better business head I think, in the financial line."
"She has," Diantha admitted. "She's ten times as good as I am at that; but she's no more willing to carry obligation than I am, Mrs. Weatherstone."
"Obligation is one thing—investment is another," said her guest. "I live on my money—that is, on other people's work. I am a base capitalist, and you seem to me good material to invest in. So—take it or leave it—I've brought you an offer."
She then produced from her hand bag some papers, and, from her car outside, a large object carefully boxed, about the size and shape of a plate warmer. This being placed on the table before them, was uncovered, and proved to be a food container of a new model.
"I had one made in Paris," she explained, "and the rest copied here to save paying duty. Lift it!"
They lifted it in amazement—it was so light.
"Aluminum," she said, proudly, "Silver plated—new process! And bamboo at the corners you see. All lined and interlined with asbestos, rubber fittings for silver ware, plate racks, food compartments—see?"
She pulled out drawers, opened little doors, and rapidly laid out a table service for five.
"It will hold food for five—the average family, you know. For larger orders you'll have to send more. I had to make some estimate."
"What lovely dishes!" said Diantha.
"Aren't they! Aluminum, silvered! If your washers are careful they won't get dented, and you can't break 'em."
Mrs. Bell examined the case and all its fittings with eager attention.
"It's the prettiest thing I ever saw," she said. "Look, Diantha; here's for soup, here's for water—or wine if you want, all your knives and forks at the side, Japanese napkins up here. Its lovely, but—I should think—expensive!"
Mrs. Weatherstone smiled. "I've had twenty-five of them made. They cost, with the fittings, $100 apiece, $2,500. I will rent them to you, Miss Bell, at a rate of 10 per cent. interest; only $250 a year!"
"It ought to take more," said Mrs. Bell, "there'll be breakage and waste."
"You can't break them, I tell you," said the cheerful visitor, "and dents can be smoothed out in any tin shop—you'll have to pay for it;—will that satisfy you?"
Diantha was looking at her, her eyes deep with gratitude. "I—you know what I think of you!" she said.
Mrs. Weatherstone laughed. "I'm not through yet," she said. "Look at my next piece of impudence!" This was only on paper, but the pictures were amply illuminating.
"I went to several factories," she gleefully explained, "here and abroad. A Yankee firm built it. It's in my garage now!"
It was a light gasolene motor wagon, the body built like those old-fashioned moving wagons which were also used for excursions, wherein the floor of the vehicle was rather narrow, and set low, and the seats ran lengthwise, widening out over the wheels; only here the wheels were lower, and in the space under the seats ran a row of lockers opening outside. Mrs. Weatherstone smiled triumphantly.
"Now, Diantha Bell," she said, "here's something you haven't thought of, I do believe! This estimable vehicle will carry thirty people inside easily," and she showed them how each side held twelve, and turn-up seats accommodated six more; "and outside,"—she showed the lengthwise picture—"it carries twenty-four containers. If you want to send all your twenty-five at once, one can go here by the driver.
"Now then. This is not an obligation, Miss Bell, it is another valuable investment. I'm having more made. I expect to have use for them in a good many places. This cost pretty near $3,000, and you get it at the same good interest, for $300 a year. What's more, if you are smart enough—and I don't doubt you are,—you can buy the whole thing on installments, same as you mean to with your furniture."
Diantha was dumb, but her mother wasn't. She thanked Mrs. Weatherstone with a hearty appreciation of her opportune help, but no less of her excellent investment.