THE FATEFUL BIRTHDAY PARTY
In the due course of events, the night of the birthday party at the
Huxley home had arrived. Betty was in high spirits as she dressed.
Doris took great interest in her donning of a new dress, “_so_
becoming,” she said. “Betty, I never saw you look so pretty. And you
don’t need rouge, either.”
“I should hope not,” laughed Betty, looking at her own image in the
mirror. “My cheeks are so hot and I’m so excited over this—I wonder
why. I’ve been with Jack enough before.”
Doris was going to a party herself, and wished that her new dress,
something promised, were ready. But it was not a big party like
Betty’s. “Papa’s calling you, Betty,” said she, taking her place at
the mirror which they shared.
Mr. Lee, who had been bringing out his car in order to take Doris
around to the house of one of the freshman girls, was waiting for
Betty in the living room. “Just a word, Betty, before any one comes
for you. This is a large party, I believe?”
“Jack said so.”
“Will there be dancing?”
“I hadn’t thought about it. Very likely.”
“Well, as you know, Betty, we do not forbid dancing and I have no
doubt that this place where you are going is all right. I intended
to inquire more about the people, but it slipped my mind. I have
several things to think about, you know.”
“Yes sir. Let’s sit down, Father. I’m all ready but my wraps.”
Mr. Lee sat down and Betty perched on the arm of his chair.
“As I said,” Mr. Lee resumed, “we do not forbid the proper sort of
dancing. I suppose it is natural for youngsters to like to move to
music. And yet it is true that so many evils are connected with the
dance—well, our church does not forbid it, but it frowns on all
sorts of looseness in manners and company. The chief thing is to
keep oneself with the best type of people, I suppose.” Mr. Lee
looked off reflectively.
“I scarcely know how to warn you, Betty. But I suppose your mother
has told you that there is a certain reserve, a certain distance to
be maintained by a nice girl when girls and boys mingle?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It is a part of charm and attraction and the delicacy that we want
our sweet girls to have. Loudness and boldness and familiarity are
just the opposites; and I have no fear that my Betty girl will ever
have those qualities. But look out for it in others, and _have a
care_, Betty. That is all, my child. How pretty you look. Have a
good time.”
“Oh, I’m going to, I know. Thanks for the warning, my daddy. I’ll
try to be good!”
In a few minutes Betty was off. Mr. Lee was just drawing his own car
from the curb when a handsome car drew up behind his. He was glad to
see that it was full of young people. The lad had not come for Betty
in his roadster. Oh, to put off the special pairing and above all,
love-making, as long as possible! But after all, his girl would have
to handle it herself.
In the car Betty found herself with several persons whom she did not
know. Mathilde was there, and Jack informed Betty that this was the
“inner circle” of guests. Jack was as easily polite as ever, but his
eyes were bright and he talked a great deal, excited, too, over his
birthday and wanting to play the host.
A chauffeur drove, which was just as well, and after this group was
deposited, drove off again. With the rest, Betty was conducted into
the handsome new house, of brick and stone, and introduced to Jack’s
mother, who was receiving with him. A very pretty girl, black-eyed
and looking not a little like Jack, was his first cousin, as
introduced, vivacious and pleasant.
A maid in newly furnished upstairs rooms had helped the girls off
with their light wraps and scarfs, but Betty was more interested in
seeing Jack’s relatives than the house. “Oh, Dad!” called Jack as he
showed his guests to seats, “come in for a minute.”
A tall, heavily built man with a very red face came in from a room
which Betty supposed was their library from a glimpse she had of
some bookcases. He shook hands with the arrivals, made a few jovial
remarks and gave Betty a special look over his glasses. “So this is
Miss Betty. I have heard of you. You may imagine where. Jack is a
good picker of—friends.”
Betty blushed a little, to her disgust, but smiled warmly at Jack’s
father. Perhaps he was nicer than he looked. Anyhow, it was pleasant
to be liked. The rooms were furnished with taste. A baby grand piano
and the very latest in radios were part of the equipment. Oriental
rugs were on the floor. Betty appreciated all that since she had
learned about values and beauty in such things. A few of them, in
her own simple home, however, satisfied Betty Lee.
One after another the young guests arrived. This was to be a real
dinner party, many as there were to be served. Dinner at the Lees
had long since been over, but dinner here was served at eight
o’clock—and such a dinner! Betty enjoyed it thoroughly, especially
as she was Jack’s companion, though Jack’s cousin from away was the
guest of honor. Dainty courses and more substantial food, prepared
in the most appetizing way, were offered. But Betty noticed wine
glasses by their plates and wondered. Would wine be used at Jack’s?
But in the midst of conversation and consumption of food Betty did
not disturb herself over what the future might bring. Nevertheless,
she was disturbed when the butler filled the glasses. She would be
polite, and said nothing. Immediately, however, some of the boys
grew a little hilarious, talking about their “prohibition beer.”
Jack nodded to the butler, who went around putting something else in
some of the glasses.
Betty gave a questioning look toward Jack, who turned to her at that
moment. “That won’t hurt you, Betty,” said he. But he pulled
something from his pocket and laughingly, teasingly, poured some
sort of liquid into the glass of his cousin.
“Any good, Jack?” asked she.
“The best my bootlegger can get,” laughed he in return.
Betty felt sick at the thought. Perhaps he was only joking. He must
be. But other boys were doing the same thing, adding something from
odd bottles around the table. There were scarcely any boys and girls
that she had known in school, though she had met some of them at
Lucia’s. Perhaps it was a good thing that Lucia had not been able to
come. Mathilde, Betty saw, was enjoying herself thoroughly and did
not refuse any of the liquor. Jack turning away from his cousin
again, told Betty that she was just a “little prude, but a very
sweet one,” “You’ll get over it, Betty. Try a little, just to please
me.”
“I’m sorry, Jack, but I can’t,” said Betty. “I’m wishing you just as
many happy returns, you know.”
“All right this time,” returned Jack, for he was in a happy mood and
the stimulating drink made him only more affable so far. It was not
the first that day.
This was the beginning. No one seemed to be the worse for anything
at dinner. There were some games and then the dancing began _a la_
victrola, though Jack apologized for not having an orchestra.
“Nobody could come,” said he—“previous engagements. It was my fault
for letting it go until too late.”
Betty never did relate the details of what occurred later in the
evening, other than to say that matters grew worse, that both boys
and girls drank from flasks and that Mr. and Mrs. Huxley had left
with some guests soon after dinner, which they had had privately.
She had enjoyed the fun at first and forgot about the wine
till forced to notice it when the flasks came out, not very
surreptitiously. But at last she came to the conclusion that it was
no place for her. She looked for Jack and saw that he was more than
half intoxicated. One boy asked her to dance and began to embrace
her as he asked, hot, liquor-laden breath indicating his state at
this time. It was Jack’s chum.
Betty slipped from his arms with an apology. “I’ve a headache, Will,
and I’m going to the dressing room to the maid a moment.”
That was satisfactory to the befuddled lad, and Betty, troubled and
disgusted, and wondering how she was going to get home, flew
upstairs. The maid was not in the dressing room where Betty had left
her wrap and the scarf she wore around her head at her mother’s
suggestion. She was glad of that. If she had to get home by street
car it would not be so bad. But she had worn her light satin
slippers and oh—it was raining! They would be ruined. Where was the
telephone? She could call her father, though he might be in bed. It
was midnight by this time, Betty supposed.
She wondered where the maid was and timidly wandered down the hall,
peeping into rooms evidently used, or intended to be used, by any
guest. Then the maid came hurrying from somewhere, too intent on
whatever her errand was to notice Betty. But Betty asked, “Where is
Mrs. Huxley, please?”
“Oh, dem folks is gwine off somewhere. Dey tells me to look afteh
the young folks, an’ it’s too big a job foh one pusson. I done tol’
her so, but she’d had too much o’ dat bootleggeh stuff hehse’f at
dinneh. Ah’s goin’ down afteh de cook. Dat young lady in dere’s done
_passed out_! An’ de butleh—he gone, too.”
The colored woman waved her dark hand indefinitely.
“Mercy! You don’t mean anybody’s dead!”
“No, honey, not daid. No, you jus’ _keep out_. Ain’ nuffin yo’ kin
do only git yo’se’f into trubble.” This addition was because Betty
was evidently about to offer help, as she turned uncertainly in the
direction from which the colored maid had come. With this, the maid
disappeared down the stairs from which the sounds of revelry still
rose. Betty went back to get her wraps. Did she have any car fare?
Well if she didn’t, she’d get on anyhow, one of those cars where you
didn’t have to pay till you got off. She’d give the conductor her
name and address or give him the ring from her finger or—anything!
Betty was getting panicky by this time. She _could_ not go down
stairs with her wrap, and run the risk of being discovered. Probably
there was a back stairway. There was, as Betty discovered by looking
along the upper halls. Dear me, she would know the way around _this_
house again. She wondered why the maid had not gone down to the
kitchen that way, but supposed that the cook was to be found
somewhere else. It had stopped raining, after only a shower.
It was a lovely night, indeed, with a moon, which helped her around
the house, through beautiful old trees and some newly planted
shrubbery. There were cars parked along the drive, but the big car
in which Betty had been brought was not to be seen. Of course, the
chauffeur was driving the older Huxleys, or waiting somewhere for
them. Betty knew that there were plays at the theatres and other
entertainments going on.
With her scarf held tightly under her chin and her wrap gathered
about her, Betty lightly flew to the drive and followed it around,
not feeling so lonely where she could see a few of the rear lights.
The walk looked spooky! She was almost lost in this neighborhood,
but as she emerged upon a sidewalk, she could see at some distance
the lights of a street car passing. Then it was not so late that the
cars were off! Of course not—was she crazy? A few automobiles
passed, but this was off from the main arteries of traffic. Like a
slim ghost Betty hurried along, stopping once for breath and to see
if her pretty bag contained any street car tickets. Had she had any
idea of walking, she could have worn shoes and carried her satin
slippers. But they were ruined. That rain had been a light shower,
indeed, leaving the night as bright as before. It must have stopped
almost as soon as she looked out to see it; but one little puddle,
stepped in by the back exit, had been sufficient.
And now she had reached the street car line. She was safe, or hoped
so. She hailed a car, and took comfort in the fact that there was an
elderly woman also waiting for it. The woman scanned her slippers
and said “You got caught in the rain, didn’t you!”
Betty had half a notion to ask her for the fare, but concluded that
it would be easier to arrange with the conductor. To be real honest,
she made her way straight to the conductor and sat down close to
where he stood by the box into which one dropped tickets.
Fortunately, there were only a few people on this car.
As soon as the woman had paid her fare and gone back to a seat in
the after part of the car, Betty spoke to the conductor.
“Can you tell me how to get to this street?” she asked, naming the
street and suburb.
The conductor began to punch a transfer, stopping a moment when
Betty added that she hadn’t a ticket, but she was scared and wanted
to get home and she could give him her father’s address and he would
pay her fare. “What’s your father’s business?” asked the conductor.
Betty told him, as the conductor took in Betty’s appearance and the
flying, pretty hair from which the scarf had become disarranged.
“I’ll take a chance on you, young lady,” said the man with a half
smile, “and pay your fare myself. So you got scared, did you? Better
not be out alone so late.”
“Oh, never again! Never again,” gasped Betty. “Thank you, so much!
Please what is your name, so we can pay you?”
The conductor hesitated, but evidently concluded that it was best to
let the affair be settled that way. He told her, slowly.
Again Betty flew along the way home from the street car half an hour
later. And oh, how good it was to see a light at home! Yes, Mother,
_Mother_, was still up!
Several short rings did Betty give and when her mother opened the
door, she began to cry and laugh a little so hysterically that her
mother was alarmed. “What is it, my child? and who brought you home
like this?”
Betty hastened to tell her mother that she was not hurt, “only all
upset, Mamma,” but she had to have a little cry before she could
tell all about it. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed more than once.
“Poor Jack! And Mathilde didn’t know what she was doing the last
time I spoke to her!”
“Come; you can tell me more tomorrow. I’m going to give you a little
quieting medicine, Betty, and put you into bed. I am thankful that
you are safe at home. Think about being snug in your own bed and
forget the rest till morning.”
“But how’ll I ever explain, Mother—about leaving and everything?”
“That can be the least of your worries, Betty. Your father and I are
the ones to ask for an explanation.”
“Oh.” Betty was thoughtful. “But you wouldn’t make a big trouble
over it, would you?”
“Do you think that would be like us?”
“No. All right. It’s your affair, Mamma. It’s too much for me!” and
Betty took the hot drink her mother offered her, instead of the
medicine she had first suggested, and went to bed.