VALENTINES
“Marcella specializes in costume parties, doesn’t she!” brightly asked
Peggy Pollard of Betty Lee as they fell in together going to gym. “Do
you remember that first party we went to there, when we were sophomores,
wasn’t it? That Hallowe’en party?”
Did Betty remember that? Well, rather! But Betty merely said
“’M-h’m—nice, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Marcella is an awfully capable girl. People at the university are
taking notice of her, they say, even if she is only a freshman. I’m glad
I was in the same sorority with her. She’s gone right into one of the
best now in the university.”
“And I’m glad that for some unheard of reason Marcella’s been a friend
of mine. Besides, she is inviting all of us that were up in Maine with
her last summer. Dear me—it all seems too long ago now, and yet how
this year has simply flown!”
“More than half over, Betty, and we’ll have our little diplomas before
we know it.”
“Yes, but don’t forget that we’ve a few things more to do before we earn
’em!”
“Don’t bring up anything disagreeable, Betty,” laughed Peggy. “But there
are lots of good times ahead, too. And we’re going to win the basketball
class contest or know the reason why!”
Betty nodded affirmatively.
“The team work between Carolyn and Kathryn is simply marvelous. Have you
been to any of the practice games recently?”
“No, I haven’t. I’ve been too busy even to play a game of anything
myself. But you must remember that the sophomore team is especially
good. They were fine as freshmen last year. I hope our girls realize
that. I haven’t more than just seen Carolyn and Kathryn for a week! The
sophs are better than the juniors, I think.”
“How’s the old swimming coming on?”
“All right. I think I’ll be one of those that get chevrons.”
“‘Think!’ You will probably be ahead of them all in number of lengths,
provided you want to be. When do the senior Red Cross tests come on?”
“The last of next month or the first of April. O joy! We’ll soon be
riding again over the old bridle paths! Peggy, you ought to have gone
into it last fall.”
“Not me. Too many other things. If I ever want to learn to ride, there
is time yet.”
“The younger the better. Doris wants to begin next year.”
“By the way, that little sister of yours has grown up all at once.”
“Hasn’t she! And Doris is making her own mark—says she; isn’t going to
be known as ‘Betty Lee’s sister!’ She is going in for swimming, too, for
we’re all like frogs for the water; but she is choosing her own
activities and has the benefit of all my mistakes to warn her.”
“You never made any mistakes, Betty Lee.”
“What nonsense! But you _mean_ well, Peggy.”
With smiles the girls parted, Betty to go to the pool and Peggy to swing
and exercise with the general equipment. Rosy and invigorated after her
swim and shower, Betty reached home at last to find everything in an
atmosphere of valentines. Doris had stopped to purchase a dozen or more
and called Betty into her room to see them. She was addressing envelopes
at her desk, a cherished acquisition of Christmas time.
“Aren’t these pretty ones, Betty? I don’t think I’ll send any comics,
unless some pretty respectable ones to a few of the girls. I almost got
one for you, Betty—a real cute and crazy one of a girl, with a violin,
that thought she could play. But the verse wasn’t very smart. I could
have made up a better one myself.”
“Hum,” said Betty. “This is Betty Lee—who thinks that she can play.”
“But she may find out better,” suggested Doris, and Betty finished it
with, “At no far distant day.”
“Let’s write a book of ‘pomes,’ Betty,” laughed Doris, “like Alice and
Phoebe Gary.”
“Great! You write the first few; and we’d better let Dick in on it, too,
for some way I don’t feel the poetic urge just now.”
“What’s that about the poetic urge?” asked Dick Lee, appearing at Doris’
open door. “May I come in? Gee, it’s nice and warm in here. The wind’s
blowing in the direction of my room and we’re having some snow—ha-ha!
Won’t it be great if we have skating again? No February thaw for me!”
Dick had his hands full of papers and asked if the girls wanted to see a
work of art. Naturally they did, though Doris did remark that it
depended on whose work of art it was.
“Here’s the best one,” said Dick, laying out on the desk a large sheet
of paper. “It’s only the design, you understand, girls. This is to be
worked out in color—perhaps.”
“Say—this is cute, Dick!” exclaimed Doris. “Why, it’s all right as a
pen and ink drawing. Why color it?”
Betty was laughing as she read. “I hope this is to an intimate friend,”
said she.
“It is, all right,” replied Dick. “It’s for Buster and he’ll know who
sent it, believe me. He knows my artistic style and we have a big joke
about his Cicero. He hates it and if he ever gets through in Latin it
will be with a couple of summer schools!”
Scallops and various marks around this picture of a valentine indicated
that Dick might cut it out in fanciful form. In the middle of the top,
above the verse which Dick had composed, was the drawing of an ink
bottle and pen, with various blots, here and there. At the right hand
corner an arrow, marked _Sagitta_, pointed toward the poetic lines. On
the left, in the corner was a good drawing of a book, large enough to
bear the small inscription, two words, one below the other, “_Cicero
Interlinear_.” An array of small arrows pointed to the book, from the
expression, “_Liber Malus et Noxius_!”
Below the verses was a comical picture, in bare outline, of a boy
bending over a book, while a candle shed very definite rays around,
though the inscription read “Burning the Midnight Oil.”
Other sketchy decorations showed “Bustum” tearing his hair, very crinkly
pen-strokes, with “_Horribile dictu_” and original principal parts, long
and short vowels carefully marked: “_Hate-o, play-ere, fail-i,
flunkum._”
The verses Doris read out loud, while Dick grinned and looked uneasy.
“There’s nothing to ’em,” said he.
“If you’re so dumb, this valentine
I send in vain; but heed it,
Unless for years you want to stay,
Translating—work, and beat it!”
Betty laughed and pointed out where a change of punctuation was
advisable. “What’s your ‘_Factum Romae_’ that you sign it?”
“Made in Rome. Now you _are_ dumb, Betty. Locative for Rome, and I
thought I’d better use the neuter singular—don’t know what ‘Valentine’
would be.”
“I see. _Hoc Romae factum est_, as it were.”
“Ye-ah. I’d have put in more Latin, but it would give Bustum a pain and
he wouldn’t take the trouble to translate it. I hope he realizes the
trouble I’m taking.”
“That’s an idea, Dick,” said his twin. “I think I’ll fix up something
like it myself. Do you care?”
“Nup, only I’d rather Bustum got his first.”
“All right. I’m not going to send very many through the mail
anyhow—mostly leave them on the desks or get somebody else to hand them
out. It isn’t like the good old days in the grades!” Doris laughed over
her own memories.
“Amy Lou is going through that now, and it’s lots of fun, Doris. Let’s
see that she gets plenty through the mail, too. She’ll smell a mouse if
valentines in the mail box haven’t any stamps on them.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Some of her friends might slip up and put them
there.”
As Dick’s efforts had started them, the girls began to make up verses.
Betty brought her pencil and paper for scribbling and hunted up some old
materials for valentines that she had kept from former times. “We’ll get
some at the ten cent store,” said Betty, “but if we can make a few
pretty ones out of our old ones and this stuff, Amy Lou will like them
and wonder who sent them.”
“Numbers of valentines have a lot to do with fun on Valentine’s day,”
said Doris. “Let’s keep it going for Amy Lou—ring the bell and run, you
know, and all that.”
It was a pretty thing for the two sisters to do for the younger one. Amy
Lou might know about it some day, or she might not, but it was a
pleasant mystery, and as Amy Lou was away, playing with two of her
chums, there was no danger that the girls would be interrupted for a
while. Pasting and finding envelopes would be done with remarkable speed
by experienced hands. More time was spent over verses, for Amy Lou would
recognize those taken from old valentines, whose laces and hearts and
darts they were using. What matter if meter was lame? So was it in many
of the valentines sold in the stores.
“My very heart I send to you,
For there’s nobody quite like Amy Lou!”
“O hearts and darts and pretty dove,
To Amy Lou take all my love.”
“Please welcome this heart and a Cupid;
If I didn’t like you I’d be stupid.”
“There’s a sweet little girl that St. Valentine knows
And he’s taking my heart in this letter.
Can you guess who she is?
Well, her name’s in plain sight
And if you can’t guess—you’d just better!”
With such couplets and longer poetic attempts, Doris and Betty prepared
a number of suitable offerings for Amy Louise, hoping that she would be
pleased. Doris locked them in her desk and both girls went to the window
to stare at snow coming thickly down. Busy as they had been, they had
not noticed except that it was growing dark. “Did you ever!” cried
Doris. “Dick won’t get his skating, but we’ll have sleds out if this
keeps up. Hurray for bob-sleds!”
“We’ll have to feed that robin in the ravine, Doris,” remarked Betty,
looking out, rather dreamily, however. “He seems to be the advance guard
and he’ll certainly wish he’d stayed behind!”
But Betty went back to her own room thinking of other things. A savory
smell from the roast cooking for dinner came up through open doors in
the well heated house. Gloria, the present light-footed, capable colored
help, had made one of her “gorgeous” chocolate cakes that afternoon,
too. Life was pretty nice. But _could_ it be possible that right in the
middle of the term Larry Waite would come back for Marcella’s party, as
he had before? Of course not! But then the unbelievable occasionally
happened. It had happened at the Hallowe’en party. Larry had changed a
little since then, but when he laughed it was the same merry face that
had looked over her shoulder into that mirror!
What costume _should_ she wear for the Valentine party? Mother did not
seem to have any ideas and had told the girls that she should think they
were old enough and into enough things to have scads of ideas of their
own. Mother had not said “scads,” of course. Mother had been into a lot
of things herself lately, since she had been entertaining a little and
had helped the new Mrs. Murchison who was a later comer than herself in
the city. They had had a _grand_ Washington’s Birthday party at the
Murchison’s and Mother had received with Mrs. Murchison, in the most
_adorable_ costume. If only that were suitable for a Valentine
party!—provided Mother would let her wear it.
Well, if the worst came to worst she could always use something old.
She’d go up to the attic and see what she could rout out. Thank fortune,
Mother had not made them throw away any such treasures when they moved.
Betty went up into their “nice new attic” and rummaged in trunks till
Dick’s most stentorian tones finally reached her. “Coming, Dick,” she
called.
“For pity’s sake, Betty, what have you been doing?” asked Dick, as Betty
threw off the sweater which she had wisely donned before going into less
well heated quarters. “Mother called and Father called, thinking that
you were in your room, and Amy Lou ran up and came down scared, thinking
something must have happened to you. Doris said you weren’t going out
anywhere. Then I went up and thought of the attic and yelled.”
“You certainly yelled all right, Dick!” returned Betty, laughing. “I’ll
make my apologies to Mother. I never heard anything at all!”
“Dreaming over old love letters, I suppose,” said Dick. “Isn’t that what
girls are supposed to do in attics?”
“Old love letters, indeed! I don’t get any _now_, let alone having any
old ones. How old do you think I am, Dick?”
“Seems to me it’s several years that certain persons of what Grandma
calls the male persuasion have been coming around here, off and on.”
Betty said nothing to this, but made her apologies by asking the family
to help her conjure up a proper costume for the important party, only
two days off. “Tomorrow is the thirteenth,” said Betty, as if something
of the utmost importance was approaching. Indeed it was, for not always
did Betty get invited with the older boys and girls to a full party of
them. But a healthy appetite and a fine dinner had great effect in
making the present pleasant. The chocolate cake melted in the mouth and
Father had stopped to bring ice cream to go with it.
Then, on the morrow—which became today—came the answer to Betty’s
problem, through a valentine which came from—New Haven. The handwriting
was disguised, Betty thought, at least it was not like that of the only
two people who might have sent it to her. It was most likely to have
come from Larry, and oddly enough, Betty felt disappointed, lovely as
the valentine was. But its coming meant that he would not be here, of
course.
Arthur Penrose was in Philadelphia now, but he sometimes visited Larry,
with whom he had become quite good friends, and might _possibly_ have
been in New Haven. Matters of trains and distances and all that sort of
thing were more or less hazy in Betty’s young mind. Anything could
happen, and after all, couldn’t it? Arthur’s letters were only
occasional now, but very friendly.
So she was in a pleasing state of uncertainty over the sender.
“It came on the morning mail, Betty,” said Mrs. Lee, who had noted the
postmark and saw that Betty opened it first before several others from
friends away from town. Valentines from friends in the city were likely
to arrive on the day itself.
“Look at it, Mother,” said Betty at that, handing the large square of
dainty white and colors and figures to Mrs. Lee. “I believe it is the
prettiest one I ever saw. Look at that darling old-fashioned couple with
Washington Birthday costumes, just beginning one of those square dances,
and Cupid shooting darts straight at them!”
“He leads her out as if he likes her, doesn’t he?” said Mrs. Lee, “and
the verse is good, though rather too much of a declaration. However,
that it permitted on St. Valentine’s day. As your natural guardian, I am
wondering _who_ could have sent it!”
“Let’s see it, Betty,” suggested Doris, who with a lapful of her own
valentines was sitting near. The girls had come home together from
school.
Betty took the valentine from her mother to hand to Doris. “I think it a
little hard,” said she, “to think that the family has to know all about
these tender messages of love!”
“Well,” said Doris, “I’m not so sure but this one _does_ mean something.
Who knows whom Betty’s charms may not have smitten in the East this
summer? Confess, Betty. Who’s in New Haven?”
“I told you, several. That’s enough, Doris. Turn about, you know—I’d
love to see that big one of yours. And please hand mine back.”
“Just a minute, Betty. It is a peach of a valentine:
“My heart is yours,
And yet, dear me,
I keep old-fashioned
Courtesy.”
Doris properly read “courtesee” to make the rhyme. “I’m glad he’s
properly respectful,” laughed Doris, handing Betty her valentine. “I’ll
give you mine in a minute.”
Mrs. Lee’s smiling eyes met Betty’s for a moment, and Betty let hers
fall with a toss of her golden head. “They’d _better_ mind their
manners,” said she. “Oh, here’s one from Janet, I know. It’s her
writing, and dear old Sue—and Auntie—and Grandma. How nice to have
friends!”
“Betty,” said Mrs. Lee, “your valentine has given me an idea. Why not go
to the party as a valentine. Wear my colonial costume and paste this
valentine to a bag, or your fan, and have some other cunning trappings
that will be like valentines.”
“Mother! You perfect dear! Do you mean that you will let me wear that
splendiferous costume? Oh, but it would be just the thing and all my
worries about fixing something would be over!”
“I may never want to wear the costume just as it is again,” said Mrs.
Lee, “and yet I may, so be careful. Doris may wear it sometime, too.”
“I’ll not be jealous, Mother,” said Doris quickly. She had been
sometimes jealous in the past but had wakened to the fact that her
parents had no real favorites and that “her turn” came surprisingly
often. The difference in age between herself and Betty was lessening, so
far as it made so much difference in interests and pursuits and Betty’s
attitude was so generous as a rule that Doris would have been ashamed
not to respond. The sisters were growing nearer this year.
“I will be just as careful as careful can be. Mother,” Betty made reply,
with great enthusiasm, “I think that you are the best mother I ever
heard of, even! And speaking of ideas! I never even thought of it,
looking with all my eyes at that valentine, too. Now let me skip off and
think out the whole costume!”