



Produced by Al Haines.




[Illustration: Cover art]




                              *MAKING OVER
                                MARTHA*


                                   BY

                          *JULIE M. LIPPMANN*

                               AUTHOR OF
                           MARTHA BY-THE-DAY,
                            MARTHA AND CUPID



                                NEW YORK
                            GROSSET & DUNLAP
                               PUBLISHERS




                            COPYRIGHT, 1913,
                                   BY
                         HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

                        Published October, 1913
               Reprinted November (twice), December, 1913
                       May, August, October, 1914
                             October, 1915




                          *MAKING OVER MARTHA*



                              *CHAPTER I*


Martha Slawson sat at her sewing-machine, stitching away for dear life.
About her, billowed yards upon yards of white cotton cloth, which, in
its uncut length, shifted, as she worked, almost imperceptibly piling up
a snowy drift in front of her, drawn from the snowy drift behind.  This
gradual ebb and flow was all that marked any progress in her labor, and
her husband, coming in after some hours of absence and finding her,
apparently, precisely where he had left her, was moved to ask what
manner of garment she was making.

"'Tain't a garment at all, Sam.  It's a motta."

"A motto?" Sam fairly gasped.

Martha put on more speed, then took her feet from the treadle, her hands
from the cloth-plate.

"I guess you forgot what's goin' to happen, ain't you?" she returned,
sitting back in her chair, looking up at him amiably.

Sam squared his great shoulders.  "Going to happen?  Oh, you mean--you
mean--Mr. and Mrs. Ronald coming home?"

"Sure I do!"

"Well, but I don't see----"

"I didn't suppose you would see.  Men ain't much on _seein'_ where
sentiment's concerned.  They go it blind, an' that's a fack.  I s'pose a
_man_ would let a gen'lman an' lady come back from their weddin'-tour
(which they been gone'most a year on it), and never think o' givin' 'em
a welcome home, any more than to find their house an' grounds kep' up,
an' their bills kep' down, an' everything in tip-top order.  But, with a
woman it's different.  _I'm_ goin' to give Miss Claire an' Lord Ronald a
reception that _is_ a reception.  Somethin' they won't forget in a
hurry.  I'm goin' to have lantrens in the trees, an' a arch of laurel
over the gateposts, an' then, as they come on in, they'll see my motta
strung acrost the driveway--

                           HAIL TO THE CHIEF!

in big yella letters, hemmed down on this white. An' the childern, all
four of 'em, is to sing it, besides. Don't you remember, they learned it
at school down home--I should say, in New York, that time the president
come back, an' all the public-school childern sung'm a welcome?"

Sam bit his lip.  "Yes, but that was a little different.  Somehow, I
think HAIL TO THE BRIDE might be better, don't you?"

"No!" said Martha, with decision.  "First place, she ain't exackly a
bride by this time.  When a lady's been married almost a year, an'
traveled 'round the world in the meanwhile, I wouldn't call her a bride.
An', besides, it wouldn't be polite to single her out, an' sorta leave
_him_ in the cold.  Everybody knows bridegrooms don't cut much of a
figga, but you needn't rub it in.  No, I thought it over careful, an'
HAIL TO THE CHIEF is what I decided on. HAIL TO THE CHIEF lets us out on
responsibility. It's up to them to prove which it hits, see?"

Whether Sam did or didn't, he made no further comment.  He went and sat
himself down in his own particular chair, took up from the center-table
the latest number of _The New England Farmer_, and commenced studying it
assiduously.

A second later, the machine was in motion again, running with great
velocity, impelled by Martha's tireless foot.

Mrs. Slawson did not look up, when the eldest of her four children, just
home from school, came in, and made straight for her side.

"Mother-r-r!"

No answer.

"Say, mother-r-r!"

"For goodness' sake, Cora, let go that R.  The way you hang on to it,
you'd think you was drownin', an' _it_ was a lifeline.  Besides, d'you
know what I decided to do?  I decided to strike.  For the rest o' this
week, I ain