Love & Mrs. Sargent Read Online Free PDF Page B

would have done it”—and now she was sloshing water all over the pantry doing her flower arrangements.
    Bertha didn’t mind. Mrs. Flood may have been an ass but she was a lady, of sorts, and Bertha liked that. And, except for having to clean up after her messes, Mrs. Flood was no trouble. Bertha liked that, too. Naturally Bertha had no respect for Mrs. Flood. Bertha only respected people who were smarter than she was and Mrs. Sargent was the only one around here who filled that bill. If Bertha had been born white, had she had the benefits of an education, she might have been in the Cabinet by now. Failing that, she was perfectly happy looking after Mrs. Sargent’s place. And Bertha, with her husband Taylor, had been here just as long as Mrs. Sargent had, cooking the meals, supervising the house, deftly arranging the dismissal of any haughty nursemaid, any uppity chambermaid, any trashy secretary who threatened by so much as a word or a gesture Bertha’s supreme power in her own domain. Things had been running beautifully for some time now—just Bertha and Taylor, outside help when it was needed, and an old fool like Flood who was grateful for the roof over her head, the food in her belly, the clothes on her back.
    “There’s the telephone, Mrs. Flood,” Bertha said. “The one in the office. You attend to that and I’ll finish the flowers for you.”
    “Oh! Would you, Bertha? Thanks ever so!” Mrs. Flood minced out of the pantry and titupped down the wide center hall toward the small sitting room that was designated as Mrs. Sargent’s office. At the foot of the stairs she stopped to study her reflection and wonder just how long she could get by with her current girdle. A Firm Foundation meant everything to Mrs. Flood. By the time she got to the desk, the telephone had stopped ringing.
    “Oh, fudge!” Mrs. Flood said. She sat down at the typewriter, put on her glasses, stuffed an envelope into the machine—the last letter of the day—and addressed it without a single mistake. “There!” she said proudly.
    There were times when Mrs. Flood entertained certain doubts as to her aptitude as a secretary. There were some words she couldn’t spell and couldn’t even find in the dictionary because she wasn’t sure of what letter to look under. There were occasions when she couldn’t read her own Speedwriting and had to trust to memory and luck. Carbon paper had a weird way of going in backwards—mostly on Tuesdays when the work was heaviest. And as for changing a typewriter ribbon!
    On the other hand, Mrs. Flood felt that she had certain Advantages that the ordinary little Nobody from Bryant and Stratton Business College could never hope to achieve. The way, for example, she could glance at a table setting and know that it was flawless; her flower arrangements; the way servants looked up to her, awed by her superior wisdom; her crisp, cultivated efficiency at answering the telephone; her immediate instinct as to what was—and what was not—a Good Address; her clever decoding of the maniacal abbreviations, the backward telephone numbers in the Social Register—these were attributes that not Just Anyone could bring to a job.
    The telephone rang again. “Hellew,” Mrs. Flood said. “Yes, this is Mrs. Flood. . . . Oh, Miss Roseberry. . . . Why, no, my dear, it didn’t ring a-tall. You must have called the wrong number. . . . Oh, re-ally? Mr. Malvern’s driving him out himself? Well, he must be a ve-ry distinguished reporter. . . . Oh, don’t you worry, my dear, we’ll make a good impression. . . . I even put copies of Worldwide all over the house, although, just between us, Miss Roseberry, Mrs. Sargent wouldn’t dream of reading one. Hahahahahahaha . . . ! Well, don’t worry your pretty head about it, Miss Roseberry. And thanks so much for warning us. Good-by, my dear.”
    “Bertha! Bertha!” Mrs. Flood cried, running to the door.
    “I’m right here, Mrs. Flood,” Bertha said, carrying a great urn