TEA IN A STABLE
"Tavia!" exclaimed Dorothy, the next afternoon, as they prepared to go to
a matinee, "this address is Aunt Winnie's apartment house--the one she
invested so much money in." She handed Tavia Miss Mingle's card.
"How strange that the teacher should be Aunt Winnie's tenant, and you
never knew it," cried Tavia, as she arranged a bunch of orchids, real
hot-house orchids, that Ned had sent.
"Won't Aunt Winnie be surprised when she learns that our little Miss
Mingle is one of her tenants?" Dorothy said. She was pinning on a huge
bunch of roses. Ned had laughed at the girls' tale of finding everything
on the shopping tour to be false, and to prove that there were real
things in New York City, had sent them these beautiful flowers to wear to
the matinee.
"Indeed," continued Dorothy, "I'm mighty glad we met Miss Mingle. Aunt
Winnie has had just about enough worry over that old apartment house!
Miss Mingle, no doubt, will relieve that anxiety to some extent. I do so
hope that everything will come out right. But come, dear, don't look so
grave, we must be gay for the show!"
Ned ran into the room. "Hurry, girls," he said, bowing low, "the motor is
at the door."
"The car!" screamed the girls in delight, "where did the car come from?"
"Oh, just the magic of New York," said Ned, with a smile.
"Not the _Fire Bird_?" asked Dorothy, hat pin suspended in mid-air.
"Oh, no, just a car. Maybe you girls like being bumped along on top of
the 'bus, but little Neddie likes to have his hand on the wheel himself,"
said Ned.
"Running a car in New York," said Tavia, "is not North Birchland, you
know. Maybe we'll get a worse bump in it than we ever dreamed of on top
of the 'bus."
"Oh, I know something about it," said Ned confidently, "been downtown
twice to-day in the thickest part of the traffic, and I'm back, as you'll
see, if you'll stop fooling with those flowers long enough to look at
me."
Tavia turned and looked lingeringly at Ned. "To-be-sure," she drawled,
"there's Ned, Dorothy."
"I'm really afraid, Ned," said Dorothy, "the traffic is so awful, you
know you aren't accustomed to driving through such crowds."
"If you stand there arguing all afternoon, there won't be any trouble
about getting through the crowd, of course," gently reminded Ned. "It's a
limousine and a dandy! Bigger than the _Fire Bird_ and a beautiful
yellow!"
"Yellow!" cried Tavia in horror. "With my complexion! Couldn't you engage
a car to match my hair?"
"And my feathers are green!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Just like a man, engage
a car and never ask what shade we prefer!"
Tavia sat down in mock dismay. "Our afternoon is spoiled! No
self-respecting person in this town ever rides in a car that doesn't
match!"
"Oh, tommyrot," said Ned in deep disgust, listening in all seriousness to
the girls' banter. "Who is going to look at us? Never heard of such
foolishness!" And he dug his hands into his pockets, and walked gloomily
about the room.
"Ned, dear, you're a darling," enthused Dorothy, "you don't really
believe we are so imbued with the spirit of New York as to demand that?"
"Ned really has paid us the greatest compliment," said Tavia,
complacently, "he believed it was all true, and only geniuses can produce
that effect."
Fifteen minutes later, after several near-collisions, Ned drove the
yellow car up to the entrance of the theatre, and while he was getting
his check from the lobby usher, the girls tripped into the playhouse.
They had box seats. With intense interest the girls watched the
continuous throng pouring into their places. Few of the passing crowd,
however, returned the lavish interest that was centered on them from the
first floor box; no one in the vast audience knew or cared that two
country girls were having their first glimpse of a New York theatre
audience. They saw nothing unusual in the eager, smiling young faces, and
as Dorothy said to Tavia, only the striking, unique and frightfully
unusual would get more than a passing glance from those that journey
through New York town.
But Dorothy and Tavia did not look at the crowd long. It was something to
be in a metropolitan theatre, witnessing one of the great successes of
the season.
Soon the curtain rolled up on the first act, a beautiful parlor scene,
and Tavia gave a gasp.
"Say, it beats when I went on the stage," she whispered to Dorothy,
referring to a time already related in detail in "Dorothy Dale's Great
Secret."
"Do you wish to go back?" asked Dorothy.
"Never!"
The play went on, and as it was something really worth while, the girls
enjoyed it greatly.
"Isn't he handsome?" whispered Tavia, referring to the leading man.
"Look out, or you'll fall in love with him," returned Ned, with a grin.
"He's one of the girls' matinee idols, you know."
Between the acts Ned slipped out for a few minutes. He returned with a
box of bonbons and chocolates.
"Oh, how nice!" murmured Dorothy and Tavia.
Then came the great scene of the play, and the young folks were all but
spellbound. When Vice was exposed and Virtue triumphed Dorothy felt like
clapping her hands, and so did the others, and all applauded eagerly.
There was a short, final act. Just before the curtain arose a step
sounded in the box and to the girls' astonishment there stood Cologne.
"I've been trying to attract your attention for ever so long," she cried,
after embracing and kissing her friends enthusiastically. "I'm spending
the day with a chum. It's such a joy to meet you like this!"
"And yesterday we met Miss Mingle," laughed Dorothy. They drew their
chairs up close, and told Cologne about the attempted theft.
"I'm so sorry for Miss Mingle," Cologne said, rather guardedly, "it seems
a pity that we never tried to know her better. She must have needed our
sympathy and friendship so much."
"All the time, she has been one of Aunt Winnie's tenants," explained
Dorothy. "But of course I did not know that."
"Then she must have told you about it," said Cologne.
"We've heard nothing," said Dorothy, "but we expect to call there
to-morrow."
"Then," said Cologne discreetly, "I can say no more."
Soon the last act was over, the orchestra struck up a popular tune, the
applause was deafening, and the audience rose to leave the theatre.
"It's all over," said Ned, and then he greeted Cologne and her friend,
Helen Roycroft.
"Didn't you like it?" exclaimed Cologne's friend, who was a New York
girl. "The critics just rave over it! Everyone must see it before
anything else! But I'm hungry; aren't you?" she asked, including all
three.
Ned slipped back, but Tavia grasped his arm.
"There's the most wonderful little tea-room just off Fifth Avenue," said
Helen Roycroft, with perfect self-possession and calm, "and I should so
love to have you enjoy a cup of tea with me."
Tavia murmured in Ned's ear: "Of course you're crazy for a cup of tea."
Ned looked helplessly at Dorothy, and calculated the money in his
pockets. Four girls and all hungry! Helen Roycroft, meeting a new man,
lost little time in impressing him with the wonderful importance of
herself, and together she and Ned led the little party over Thirty-eighth
Street to Fifth Avenue, while good-natured Cologne, with Dorothy and
Tavia, followed behind.
The tea-room they entered, as Helen explained, was the most popular place
in town for people of fashion, for artistic souls, and the moneyed,
leisure class.
"Everyone likes to come here," continued Helen, in a manner that plainly
suggested that she loved to show off her city, "mostly because the place
was once the stable of a member of the particular four hundred, and as
this is as near as most of its patrons will ever come to the four
hundred, they make it a rendezvous at this particular hour every
afternoon."
The "stable" still retained its original architecture, beamed ceiling and
quaint stalls, painted a modest gray and white, in which were placed
little tables to accommodate six persons, lighted with shaded candles.
Cushioned benches were built to the sides of the stalls for seats; dainty
waitresses, dressed also in demure gray and white, dispensed tea, and
crackers and salads.
Hidden somewhere in the dim distance, musicians played soft, low music
and the whole effect was so charming that even Ned held his breath and
looked around him in wonder. This tea-room was something akin to a
woman's club, where they could entertain their men friends with afternoon
tea, in seclusion within the stalls.
Helen Roycroft mentioned the name of a well-known actress and, trying
hard to keep her enthusiasm within bounds, pointed her out to the party.
The actress was seated alone in a stall, dreaming apparently, over a cup
of tea. The waitress stood expectantly waiting for the young people to
select their stall. When Tavia saw the actress, with whose picture they
were all very familiar, she pinched Dorothy hard.
"Surely we never can have such luck as to sit at the same tea table with
her," indicating the matronly actress.
"Should you like to?" asked the New York girl.
And forthwith they were led to the stall. The matronly-looking woman
languidly raised blue, heavy-lashed eyes to the gushing young girls who
invaded her domain, then put one more lump of sugar in her tea and drank
it, and Tavia breathlessly watched!
She was an actress of note, one of the finest in the world, and her
pictures had always shown her as tall and slender and beautifully young!
The woman Tavia gazed at had the face of the magazine pictures, but she
was decidedly matronly; there was neither romance nor tragedy written on
the smooth lines of her brow. She was so like, and yet so unlike her
pictures, that Tavia fell to studying wherein lay the difference. It was
rude, perhaps, but the lady in question, understood the eager brown eyes
turned on her, and she smiled.
And that smile made everyone begin to talk.
It was quite like a family party. Ned, as the only man present, came in
for the lion's share of attention and it pleased him much. Just a whim of
the noted actress perhaps, made her join gaily in the tea-party, or
mayhap, it was a privilege she rarely enjoyed, this love of genuine
laughter, and bright, merry talk of the fresh young school girls. And it
was a moment in the lives of the girls that was never forgotten.
The voices in the tea-room scarcely rose above a murmur; the music played
not a note above a dreamy, floating ripple; and the essence of the
freshly-made tea pervaded the air.
At times Tavia could see the actress of the magazines, and again she was
just somebody's mother, tired out and drinking tea, like every mother
Tavia had ever met. But the most thrilling moment of all was when she
said good-bye and asked the girls to call. And best of all, she meant
it--Dorothy knew that! There was no mistaking the sincerity of the voice,
the kindly light of her eyes, nor the simple words of the invitation to
call.
"I must hurry now," she had said, "I'm due at the theatre in another
hour; but I want to see you again. I want you to tell me more of your
impressions of this great city. I've really enjoyed this cup of tea more
than you know, my dears," and she smiled at Tavia and Dorothy.
Tavia and Dorothy had really talked so much that Helen Roycroft had
little chance to display her fine knowledge of city life. Cologne was
well content to sit and listen.
When the actress was gone, Tavia said to Dorothy: "Must we really go? I
could stay here drinking tea for a week."
"I never want to see a cup of tea again," declared Ned. "And say," he
continued, "next time I'm dragged into a ladies' tea-room, I want an end
seat! These stalls were never meant for fellows with knees where mine
come!" And he painfully unwound himself from a cramped position.
"Ned does have so much trouble with those knees," explained Dorothy. "He
never can have any but an end seat or box-seat at the theatre, because
there is no room for his knees elsewhere. Poor boy! How uncomfortable
will be your memory of this tea-room!"
"It will be the loveliest memory of my trip," Tavia declared. "We found
something real and true!"
"I'd give the whole world to be able to stay over," said Cologne,
plaintively.
"Just one more cup of tea!" cried Dorothy, "then we'll start for home in
the yellow car."
"I'm glad it's dark," said Tavia, mischievously glancing at Ned, "the
color combination is such wretched taste!"
"I'm sorry, Cologne," said Dorothy, "that you can't stay and come with us
to-morrow to call on Miss Mingle."
Ned was cranking up the car, and the girls for a moment were just a
confused mass of muffs and feathers and kisses, then they jumped in, and
drove home to the Riverside apartment.