CONCLUSIONS
The next scene in this little drama of conflicting ideas and their
results takes us to a small park where Jack led Betty to a bench and
sat down beside her. Neither wore any hats and the late afternoon
sunshine fell upon Betty’s gold locks and Jack’s dark ones through
the Maytime green of boughs above them. They had talked of
incidental school matters on the short ride, when Betty had
preferred the park to being entertained at a tea room.
At once Jack had began to tell Betty how he had just heard about her
going home, through the colored maid who had looked from a
downstairs window and had seen Betty outside, “flyin’ along as if de
ol’ Nick hise’f was afteh her!” Jack’s mouth showed some mirth as he
quoted the dialect.
“That was the way I felt, Jack. Honestly this is no joke. I was
frightened about going home, but I was more scared to stay, Jack.
I’ve no doubt but you intended to have me taken home safely. I went
to speak to you about matters but I saw that you were in no
condition, or mood, for that matter. Why, Jack, I never was where
anybody was intoxicated before, and I think it was _terrible_!”
“Oh, Betty, it wasn’t as bad as that. You’re just a little goose
about it. You’ll get used to it.”
“Never. Do you think I’d risk having my senses half gone, or all
gone, and not know, scarcely, what was happening?—besides getting
so you have to have it! And how did it happen that you didn’t know I
was gone? Just because _you_ didn’t know what _was_ happening.”
“Ye-ah. That’s the reason I wouldn’t come out to your house. I
thought your father might meet me with a gun.”
“Please don’t joke about it.”
Betty went on to explain that if there had been any older people
there at the time, she would have asked to be sent home and made
“proper leave-takings.” She described briefly her trip home, her
satin slippers muddy from the “April shower in May,” her talk with
her mother, and what her parents thought about the matter.
“You see, Jack, in the little town we came from there was a nice boy
next door that we just _saw_ going to pieces little by little and
having his life ruined and breaking his mother’s heart—losing his
jobs—I imagine you see more what drinking does to people in a
country town where you know everybody. Why, I’d be the most thankful
friend you’ve got, Jack, if I thought you’d let it alone!”
“Honestly, Betty, I don’t know whether I could or not.” Jack was
serious enough as Betty summed up the situation from her viewpoint.
He folded his arms and looked down at the grass where a little
chipping sparrow was hopping about. Then suddenly his mood changed.
“Aw, Betty, come now. It isn’t as bad as you think. Why, we’ve
always had liquor of some sort around. Father’s had it all his life
and it never hurt him. (Oh, hasn’t it? Betty thought.)
“I was just celebrating my birthday a little too much—that was all.
Let’s forget it. I’ll make it up to you. Mother’s provoked about it
and I think she was going to call up your mother today; but whatever
our folks think we can be friends, can’t we?”
“Jack, as I told you when we began to talk about this, I looked
forward to that party, and I did and do appreciate all that your
mother and father did to make everything lovely for all of us. It
was a wonderful entertainment, dinner, the pretty house, everything,
and I don’t for a minute think you are responsible for what the
other boys brought in in their flasks, or for the way some of them
behaved. And you can count upon me, Jack, not to tell about those
things at school, or anywhere else, for that matter.
“But to be special friends or see much of each other—we just can’t,
that’s all. We are too different. You think things are all right
that I—well, you see how hard it is for us even to talk about
them.” Betty stopped, for Jack was frowning.
“How about that picnic that we fixed up that night at dinner? You
said you’d go. I promise you that I’ll not have a drop of anything
with me.”
Betty had all she could do to keep steady. Jack did like her, and
his eyes were so distressed. “Oh, I’d love to say it was all right,
Jack, because you’ve been such a good friend; but even if I could
tell you that I would go, Mother and Father would never let me go
anywhere with that crowd again.”
“How about me alone, with a different crowd?”
“The same, Jack—I’m sorry.” Betty, too, looked distressed.
“I don’t think you care very much, Betty.” Jack jumped up. “I’ll
drive you home unless you think that your parents will think you
quite contaminated by the ride!”
“Would you rather drive me home, or not, Jack? We could easily say
good-bye here. The street car line, only a block away, takes me
right out home.” Betty would really have preferred to take the
street car, but Jack vetoed that.
“I’m sore enough over all this,” said he, “but I’d rather take you
home. I’m not a perfect bounder, and if you like I’ll go into the
house and talk to your mother.”
“I wish you would,” said Betty, dreading it, however.
But when the roadster drew up before the Lee home, Jack courteously
accompanied Betty to the front door, but said that he had changed
his mind about coming in. “I may do it some other time,” said he.
Betty, just inside the hall door, turned to see Jack hurrying out to
his car, starting it and rolling off with never a look backwards.
She sighed, shut the door and went to ask her mother if Mrs. Huxley
had telephoned. She had not. “It’s all over, Mother, my talk with
Jack. Did you see him bring me home in his roadster? It’s the last
time, of course, but I can’t tell you about what we said just now.”
To Betty’s own surprise her voice shook and at her mother’s
sympathetic look the tears came.
“I think I’ve got to go off and cry,” she said in a squeaky tone and
as she fled toward her room she heard her mother say that she would
keep Doris away if she came home too soon. One lovely thing about
Mother was that she wasn’t curious! She could wait until her
children felt like telling her things.
Betty, however, had some repentant thoughts. It would have been
better, perhaps, to have braved the opposition, or criticism, or
disagreeable circumstances at the party, as her father had
suggested, to telephone to him at home, rather than to have risked
coming home so late and alone. A city was no place for that. But if
she wrote an apology to her hostess it might “mess things up worse
than ever,” she concluded. Hereafter she would try to “keep her
head,” but also never to get caught in such a situation.