THE SHOPPING TOUR
"I guess I'll wear my skating cap, the wind blows so on top of those
'buses," remarked Tavia, as she and Dorothy prepared to go downtown to
see the shops. It was their second day in New York.
"And I'll wear my fur cap," Dorothy announced, "as that sticks on so
well. It is windy to-day."
"Wasn't it too funny about the little boys? I do believe if that janitor
had caught them he would have punished them somehow. The idea of their
kite dropping around the neck of the old gentleman on the next floor! I
should have given anything to see the fun," and Tavia laughed at the
thought.
"The poor old gentleman," Dorothy reflected. "To think he was not safe
taking the air on his own balcony. I was afraid that Ned would be blamed.
Then our apartment would be marked as something dangerous. But Aunt
Winnie fixed it all right. Janitors love small change."
"Most people do," Tavia agreed. "I hope we find things cheap in New York.
I do want so many odds and ends."
"It will be quite an experience for us to go all alone," Dorothy said.
"We will have to be careful not to--break any laws."
"Or any bric-a-brac," added Tavia. "Some of those men we saw coming up
looked to me like statues. I wonder anyone could enjoy life and be so
stiff and statuesque."
"We will see some strange things, I am sure," Dorothy said. "I'm ready.
Wait. I guess I'll take my handbag. We may want to carry some little
things home."
"And I'll take your silk bag if you don't mind," Tavia spoke. "I did not
bring any along."
So, after accepting all sorts of warnings from Ned and Mrs. White, each
declaring that young girls had to be very well behaved, and very careful
in such a large city, the two companions started off for their first
day's shopping.
Climbing up the little winding steps to the top of the Fifth Avenue 'bus
Tavia dropped her muff. Of course a young fellow, with a fuzzy-wuzzy sort
of a hat, caught it--on the hat. Tavia was plainly embarrassed, and
Dorothy blushed. But it must be said that the young man with the velvet
hat only looked at Tavia once and that was when he handed her muff up to
her.
On top of the 'bus, away from the crowd (for they were alone up there),
Dorothy and Tavia gave in to the laughter that was stifling them. They
knew something would happen and it had, promptly.
"Perhaps that is why they wear such broad-brimmed hats," Dorothy
remarked, "to catch things."
Soon an elderly woman puffed up the steps. She was so done up in furs she
could not get her breath outside of them. Tavia and Dorothy took a double
seat nearer the front, to allow the lady room near the steps.
"Oh, my! Thank you," gasped the lady who had a little dog in her muff.
"It does do one up so to climb steps!"
The country girls conversed in glances. They had read about dogs on
strings, but had never heard of dogs in muffs.
"Lucky that muff did not drop," Dorothy said, in a whisper. "I fancy the
little dog would not like it."
"I wish it had," Tavia confessed. "The idea of a woman, who fairly has to
crawl, carrying a dog with her."
Once settled, the woman and the dog no longer interested our young
friends. There were the boys on the street corners with their trays of
violets; there were the wonderful mansions with so many sets of curtains
that one might wonder how daylight ever penetrated; there were the
taxicabs floating along like a new species of big bird; then the private
auto conveyances--with orchids in hanging glasses! No wonder that Dorothy
and Tavia scarcely spoke a word as they rode along.
There is only one New York. And perhaps the most interesting part of it
is that which shows how real people live there.
"I wonder who's cooking there now," misquoted Tavia, as she got a peek
into an open door that seemed to lead to nowhere in particular.
"Can you imagine people living in such closed-in quarters?" Dorothy
remarked, "I should think they would become--canned."
"They don't live there,--they only sleep there," Tavia disclosed, with a
show of pride. "I do not believe a single person along here ever eats a
meal in his or her house. They all go out to hotels."
"But they can't take the babies," said Dorothy. "I often wonder what
becomes of the babies after dark, when the parks are not so attractive."
"Do you really suppose that people do live in those vaults?" musingly
asked Tavia. "I should think they would smother."
"We can't see the back yards," Dorothy suggested.
"Perhaps New York is like ancient Rome--all walls and back yards."
"But the fountains," exclaimed Tavia, "where are they?"
"There are sunken gardens behind those walls, I imagine," explained
Dorothy, "and they must be there."
For some moments neither spoke further. The 'bus rattled along and as
they neared Thirty-fourth Street stops were made more frequently.
"We will get off at the next corner," Dorothy told Tavia, "I know of one
big store up here."
They climbed down the narrow, winding stairs and with a bound were in the
midst of the Fifth Avenue shopping crowd.
Dorothy shivered under her furs. "Where," she asked, "do all the flowers
come from? No one in the country ever sees flowers in the winter, and
here they are blooming like spring time."
"Do you feel peculiar?" demanded Tavia, stopping suddenly.
"Why, no," answered Dorothy innocently; "do you?"
"I feel just as if I needed a--nosegay," said Tavia, laughing slily.
"We're not at all as dashing as we might be!"
They purchased from a thinly-clad little boy two bunches of violets,
sweetly scented, daintily tasseled--but made of silk!
"The silkiness accounts for the always fresh and blooming violets,"
Dorothy said ruefully. "Now, we look just like real New Yorkers."
"Now where is that store?" said Dorothy, looking about with a puzzled
air. "I'm sure it was right over there."
"Isn't that a store," said Tavia, "where all those autos and carriages
are?"
"Where?" asked Dorothy, still bewildered.
"Where the brown-liveried man is helping ladies out of carriages and
things," Tavia answered.
"Oh," said Dorothy meekly, "I thought that was a hotel!"
If there was anything in the world more subduedly rich, or more quietly
lavish, than the shop that Dorothy and Tavia entered, the girls from the
country could not imagine it. The richest and most costly of all things
for which the feminine heart yearns, were displayed here. For the first
few moments the girls did not talk. They were silent with the wonder of
the costliness on every side. Then Tavia said timidly: "Nothing has a
price mark on!"
"Hush!" whispered Dorothy, "they don't have vulgar prices here. They only
sell to persons who never ask prices."
"Oh!" said Tavia, with quick understanding, "however, dare me to ask that
wonderful creature with the coiffure, the price of those finger bowls,"
murmured Tavia, a yearning entering her soul to possess a priceless
article.
"What do you want with finger bowls?" asked Dorothy, mystified.
"How do I know? I may yet need a finger bowl," enigmatically responded
Tavia, "maybe to plant a little fern in." She handled the finger bowl
tenderly. Dorothy, too, picked up a tiny brass horse, hammered in
exquisite lines. "Isn't this lovely!" she exclaimed.
"It's a wonderful piece of work," admired Tavia, while she clung with
intense yearning to the finger bowl.
"How much are these, please?" Dorothy asked the saleswoman.
The saleswoman carefully brushed back two stray locks that had escaped
from their net, and gazing into space said: "Five dollars and Six dollars
and ninety-seven cents." Her attitude was slightly scornful at being
asked the very common "how much."
The scorn was too much for Tavia's spirit. She lifted her chin: "I'll
take two of each kind, if you please, send them C.O.D.," and, giving her
Riverside Drive address, Tavia, followed by Dorothy, turned and
gracefully swayed from the counter, in grand imitation of an elegantly
gowned young girl who had just purchased some brass, and had it charged.
"Tavia, how awful!" gasped Dorothy. "Whatever will you do with those
things!"
"Send them back," answered Tavia, with great recklessness, her chin still
held high.
Dorothy admitted that of course it wasn't at all possible to back away
from such a saleswoman, but she felt quite guilty about something. "We
shouldn't have yielded to our feelings," she said gently, "it would, at
best, have been only momentary humiliation."
"We're in the wrong store," said Tavia, decidedly, "I must see price
signs that can be read a block away. This place is too exquisite!"
"Isn't this the dearest!" Dorothy darted to the handkerchief counter, and
picked up a dainty bit of lace.
Tavia gazed at the small lacy thing with rapt attention, cautiously
trying to see some hidden mark to indicate the cost, but there was none.
"Something finer than this, please," queried Tavia, of the saleswoman,
"it's exquisite, Dorothy, but not just what I like, you see."
Dorothy kept a frightened pair of eyes downcast, as the saleswoman handed
Tavia another lace handkerchief saying, with a genial smile: "Eighteen
dollars." Tavia held up the handkerchief critically: "And this one?" she
asked, pointing to another.
"Twelve dollars," replied the saleswoman, all attention.
"We must hurry on," interposed Dorothy, grasping Tavia's arm in sheer
desperation, "there are so many other things, suppose we leave the
handkerchiefs until last?"
Critically Tavia fingered the costly bits of lace, as if unable to
decide. Then she smiled artlessly at the saleswoman. "It's hard to say,
of course, we're so rushed for time, but we'll look at them again."
Together the girls hurried for the street door.
"That was really New York style; wasn't it?" triumphantly declared Tavia.
"Never again will I submit to superior airs when I want to know the
price."
"Hadn't we better ask someone where stores are that sell goods with price
marks on them?" laughingly asked Dorothy.
They followed the crowd toward Broadway and Sixth Avenue. Gaily Tavia
tripped along. She never had been happier in all her life. She loved the
whirl and the people, and the never-ending air of gaiety. Dorothy liked
it all, but it made her a bit weary; the festal air of the crowd did seem
so meaningless.
When they reached Sixth Avenue it took but an instant for both girls to
pick out the most enticing shop and thither they hurried. It was
brilliantly lighted, the gorgeous splendor was Oriental in its beauty,
there was no quiet hidden loveliness about this store, it dazzled and
charmed and it had price signs! Just nice little white signs, with dull
red figures, not at all "screeching" at customers, but most useful to
persons of limited means. One could tell with the merest glance just what
counter to keep away from.
A struggling mass of humanity, mostly women, were packed in tightly about
one counter. The girls could not get closer than five feet, but patiently
they stood waiting their turn to see what wonderful thing was on sale. It
was Tavia's first bargain rush, and for every elbow that was jammed into
her ribs, she stepped on someone's foot. Dorothy held her head high above
the crowd to breathe. At last they reached the counter, and the bargains
that all were frantically aiming to reach were saucepans at ten cents
each.
"After that struggle, we must get one, just for a memento of the bargain
rush," exclaimed Dorothy, crowding her muff under her arm. Something fell
to the floor with a crash at the movement of Dorothy's arm. Immediately
there was great confusion, because, a little woman, flushed and greatly
excited had cried out, "My purse! I beg your pardon madam, that is my
purse you have!"
The small, excited woman was clinging desperately to the arm of another
woman, who towered above the crowd.
"Why, that's Miss Mingle!" cried Tavia to Dorothy.
"Oh, Miss Mingle!" called out Dorothy.
"Girls," cried the little Glenwood teacher, excitedly, "this woman
snatched my purse!"
They were all too excited at the moment to find anything strange in thus
meeting with one another.
The big woman calmly surveyed the girls: "She, the blond one, knocked
your purse down with her muff, I was goin' to pick it up, that's all.
It's under your feet now."
The woman slowly backed into the crowd.
Dorothy's eyes opened wide with wonder! The thing that had fallen had
certainly made a crash! and the leather end sticking from the cuff of the
woman's fur coat sleeve surely looked like a purse! Dorothy gasped at the
horror of it! What could she do? The woman was moving slowly farther and
farther away.
Miss Mingle stooped to the floor in search of the purse. As quick as a
flash the woman slipped out of the crowd, as Miss Mingle loosened her
hold. Amazed and horrified at the boldness of the theft, Dorothy for one
instant stood undecided, then she sprang after the woman and faced her
unflinchingly:
"Give me that purse! It's in the cuff of your coat sleeve!"
The woman drew herself up indignantly, glared at Dorothy, and would have
made an effort to get away, scornfully ignoring the girl who barred her
path, when a store detective arrived on the spot.
She, too, was a girl, modestly garbed in black. In a perfectly quiet
voice she spoke to the woman.
"These matters can always be settled at our office, madam. Come with me."
"The idea!" screamed the woman. "I never was insulted like this before!
How dare you!"
"There is nothing to scream about," said the young detective, in her soft
voice, "I've merely asked you to come to the office and talk it over.
Isn't that fair?"
"Indeed, I'll submit to nothing of the sort! A hard-working, honest woman
like I am!" She made another effort to elude her accusers by a quick
movement, but Dorothy kept close to one side and the store detective
followed at the other. The woman stared stubbornly at the detective.
Disgusted with the performance, Dorothy quietly reached for the
protruding purse and held it up.
"Is this yours?" she asked, of Miss Mingle.
"Yes, yes, my dear!" cried Miss Mingle, gratefully accepting the purse,
"I'm so thankful! I caught her hand as she slipped the purse away from my
arm. How can I thank you, Miss Dale?"
Tavia led the way out of the crowd, and the store detective took charge
of the woman, who was an old offender and well known.
"Dorothy Dale and Tavia Travers!" joyfully exclaimed Miss Mingle, when
the excitement was over. "Where did you come from, and at such an
opportune moment?"
"We are as surprised as you," exclaimed Dorothy, "and so glad to have
been able to be of assistance!"
"We'll hang the saucepan in the main hall at Glenwood in honor of the
bargain rush," said Tavia, waving the parcel above her head.
"Girls, I'm still picking feathers out of my hair!" said Miss Mingle,
laughing gaily.
"Don't you love New York?" burst from Tavia's lips. "I'm dreading the
very thought of returning to Glenwood and school again!"
But Miss Mingle sighed. "I'm counting the days until my return to
Glenwood, my dears. But, you don't want to hear anything about that,
you're young and happy, and without care. Come and see us--I'm with my
sister, and I would just love to have you." At mention of her sister,
Miss Mingle's lips involuntarily quivered and she partly turned away. "Do
come, girls, this is my address. I'm glad you're enjoying New York; I
wish I could say as much."
As she said good-bye, Dorothy noticed how much more than ever the thin,
haggard face was drawn and lined with anxiety, and the timid dread in her
eyes enhanced by the bright red spots that burned in the hollows of her
cheeks.
"We must call," said Dorothy, when Miss Mingle had disappeared. "There is
some secret burden wearing that little woman to a shred."
"Her eyes have the look of a haunted creature," said Tavia, seriously.
"We can't call to-morrow; we have the matinee, you know."
"Yes, that's always the way, one must do the pleasant things, and let
misery and sorrow take care of themselves," sighed Dorothy. "Well, we can
the following day."