GLADYS IN A DOUBLE BILL
He meant well, Mr. Robert did; but, say, between you and me, he come
blamed near spillin' the beans. Course, I could see by the squint to
his eyelids that he's about to make what passes with him for a comic
openin'.
"I hate to do it, Torchy," says he, "especially on such a fine
afternoon as this."
"Go on," says I, "throw the harpoon! Got your yachtin' cap on, ain't
you? Well, have I got to sub for you at a directors' meeting or what?"
"Worse than that," says he. "You see, Marjorie and Ferdy are having a
veranda tea this afternoon, up at their country house."
"Help!" says I. "But you ain't billin' me for any such----"
"Oh, not exactly that," says he. "They can get along very well without
me, and I shall merely 'phone out that Tubby Van Orden has asked me to
help try out his new forty-footer. But there remains little Gladys.
I'd promised to bring her out with me when I came."
"Ye-e-e-es?" says I doubtful. "She's a little joker, eh?"
"Why, not at all," says he. "Merely a young school friend of
Marjorie's. Used to be in the kindergarten class when Marjorie was a
senior, and took a great fancy to her, as little girls sometimes do to
older ones, you know."
Also it seems little Gladys had been spendin' a night or so with
another young friend in town, and someone had to round her up and
deliver her at the tea, where her folks would be waitin' for her.
"So I'm to take her by the hand and tow her up by train, am I?" says I.
"I had planned," says Mr. Robert, shakin' his head solemn, "to have you
go up in the machine with her, as Marjorie wants to send someone back
in it--Miss Vee, by the way. Sure it wouldn't bore you?"
"Z-z-z-ing!" says I. "Say, if it does you'll never hear about it,
believe me!"
Mr. Robert chuckles. "Then take good care of little Gladys," says he.
"Won't I, though!" says I. "I'll tell her fairy tales and feed her
stick candy all the way up."
Honest, I did blow in a quarter on fancy pink gumdrops as I'm passin'
through the arcade; but when I strolls out to the limousine Martin
touches his hat so respectful that I gives him a dip into the first bag.
"Got your sailin' orders, ain't you, Martin?" says I. "You know we
collect a kid first."
"Oh, yes, Sir," says he. "Madison avenue. I have the number, Sir."
Just like that you know. "I have the number, Sir"--and more business
with the cap brim. Awful bore, ain't it, specially right there on
Broadway with so many folks to hear?
"Very well," says I, languid. Then it's me lollin' back on the
limousine cushions and starin' haughty at the poor dubs we graze by as
they try to cross the street. Gee, but it's some different when you're
inside gazin' out, than when you're outside gawpin' in! And even if
you don't have the habit reg'lar, but are only there just for the time
bein', you're bound to get that chesty feelin' more or less. I always
do. About the third block I can look slant-eyed at the cheap skates
ridin' in hired taxis and curl the lip of scorn.
I've noticed, though, that when I work up feelin's like that there's
bound to be a bump comin' to me soon. But I wasn't lookin' for this
one until it landed. Martin pulls up at the curb, and I hops out,
rushes up the steps, and rings the bell.
"Little Miss Gladys ready?" says I to the maid.
She sort of humps her eyebrows and remarks that she'll see. With that
she waves me into the reception hall, and pretty soon comes back to
report that Miss Gladys will be down in a few minutes. She had the
real skirt notion of time, that maid. For more'n a solid half-hour I
squirms around on a chair wonderin' what could be happenin' up in the
nursery. Then all of a sudden a chatter of goodbys comes from the
upper hall, a maid trots down and hands me a suitcase, and then appears
this languishin' vision in the zippy French lid and the draped silk
wrap.
It's one of these dinky brimless affairs, with skyrocket trimmin' on
the back, and it fits down over her face like a mush bowl over Baby
Brother; but under the rim you could detect some chemical blonde hair
and a pair of pink ears ornamented with pearl pendants the size of
fruit knife handles. She has a complexion to match, one of the kind
that's laid on in layers, with the drugstore red only showing through
the whitewash in spots, and the lips touched up brilliant. Believe me,
it was some artistic makeup!
[Illustration: Believe me, it was some artistic makeup!]
Course, I frames this up for the friend; so I asks innocent, "Excuse
me, but when is little Miss Gladys comin'?"
"Why, I'm Gladys!" comes from between the carmine streaks.
I gawps at her, then at the maid, and then back at the Ziegfeld vision
again. "But, see here!" I goes on. "Mr. Robert he says how----"
"Yes, I know," she breaks in. "He 'phoned. The stupid old thing
couldn't come himself, and he's sent one of his young men. That's much
nicer. Torchy, didn't he say? How odd! But come along. Don't stand
there staring. Good-by, Marie. You must do my hair this way again
sometime."
And next thing I know I'm helpin' her into the car, while Martin tries
to smother a grin. "There you are!" says I, chuckin' her suitcase in
after her. "I--I guess I'll ride in front."
"What!" says she. "And leave me to take that long ride all alone?
I'll not do it. Come in here at once, or I'll not go a step! Come!"
No shrinking violet about Gladys, and as I climbs in I shakes loose the
last of that kindergarten dope I'd been primed with. I'll admit I was
some fussed for awhile too, and I expect I does the dummy act, sittin'
there gazin' into the limousine mirror where she's reflected vivid. I
was tryin' to size her up and decide whether she really was one of the
chicken ballet, or only a high school imitation. I'm so busy at it
that I overlooks the fact that she has the same chance of watchin' me.
"Well?" says she, as we swings into Central Park. "I trust you
approve?"
"Eh?" says I, comin' out of the trance. "Oh, I get you now. You're
waitin' for the applause. Let's see, are you on at the Winter Garden,
or is it the Casino roof?"
"Now don't be rude," says she. "Whatever made you think I'd been on
the stage?"
"I was only judgin' by the get-up," says I. "It's fancy, all right."
"Pooh!" says she. "I've merely had my hair done the new way. I think
it's perfectly dear too. There's just one little touch, though, that
Marie didn't quite get. I wonder if I couldn't--you'll not care if I
try, will you?"
"Oh, don't mind me," says I.
She didn't. She'd already yanked out three or four hatpins and has
pried off the zippy lid.
"There, hold that, will you?" says she, crowdin' over into the middle
of the seat so's to get a good view in the mirror, and beginnin' to
revise the scenic effect on her head. Near as I can make out, the hair
don't come near enough to meetin' her eyebrows in front or to coverin'
her ears on the side.
Meanwhile she goes on chatty, "I suppose Mother'll be wild again when
she sees me like this. She always does make such a row if I do
anything different. There was an awful scene the first time I had my
hair touched up. Fancy!"
"I was wonderin' if that was the natural tint?" says I.
"Goodness, no!" says Gladys. "It was a horrid brown. And when I used
to go to the seminary they made me wear it braided down my back, with a
bow on top. I was a sight! The seminary was a stupid place, though.
I was always breaking some of their silly rules; so Mummah sent me to
the convent. That was better. Such a jolly lot of girls there, some
whose mothers were great actresses. And just think--two of my best
chums have gone on the stage since! One of them was married and
divorced the very first season too. Now wasn't that thrilling? Mother
is furious because she still writes to me. How absurd! And some of
the others she won't allow me to invite to the house. But we meet now
and then, just the same. There were two in our box party last night,
and we had such a ripping lark afterward!"
Gladys was runnin' on as confidential as if she'd known me all her
life, interruptin' the flow only when she makes a jab with the
powder-puff and uses the eyebrow pencil. And bein' as how I'd been
cast for a thinkin' part I sneaks out the bag of gumdrops and tucks one
into the off side of my face. The move don't escape her, though.
"Candy?" says she, sniffin'.
"Sorry I can't offer you a cigarette," says I, holdin' out the bag.
"Humph!" says she. "I have smoked them, though. M-m-m-m! Gumdrops!
You dear boy!"
Yes, Gladys and me had a real chummy time of it durin' that hour's
drive, and I notice she put away her share of the candy just as
enthusiastic as if she'd been a kid in short dresses. As a matter of
fact, she acts and talks like any gushy sixteen-year-old. That's about
what she is, I discovers; though I wouldn't have guessed it if she
hadn't let it out herself.
But, say, she's some wise for her years, little Gladys is, or else
she's a good bluffer! She had me holdin' my breath more'n once, as she
opens up various lines of chatter. She'd seen all the ripe problem
plays, was posted on the doin's of the Reno colony, and read the Robert
Chambers stuff as fast as it came out.
And all the time she talks she's goin' through target practice with her
eyes, usin' me as the mark. A lively pair of lamps Gladys has too, the
big, innocent, baby-blue kind that sort of opens up wide and kind of
invites you to gaze into the depths until you get dizzy. Them and the
little, openin' rosebud mouth makes a strong combination, and if it
hadn't been for the mural decorations I might have fallen hard for
Gladys; but ever since I leaned up against a shiny letterbox once I've
been shy of fresh paint. So I proceeds to hand out the defensive josh.
"Roll 'em away, Sis," says I, "roll 'em the other way!"
"Pooh!" says she. "Can't a person even look at you?"
"You're only wastin' ammunition," says I. "You can't put any spell on
me, you know."
"Oh, really!" says she, rakin' me with a quick broadside. "Do you mean
that you don't like me at all?"
"Since you've called for it," says I, "I'll admit I ain't strong for
these spotlight color schemes, specially on kids."
"Kids!" she sputters. "I think you're perfectly horrid, so there!"
"Stick to it," says I. "Makes me feel better satisfied with myself."
"Redhead!" says she, runnin' her tongue out.
"Yes, clear to the roots," says I, "and the tint didn't come out of a
bottle, either."
"I don't care," says she. "All the girls do it."
"Your bunch, maybe," says I; "but there's a few that don't."
"Old sticks, yes," says she. "I'm glad you like that kind. You're as
bad as Mummah."
"Is that the worst you can say of me?" says I. "How that would please
Mother!"
Oh, sure, quite a homelike little spat we had, passin' the left handers
back and forth--and inside of five minutes she has made it all up again
and is holdin' out her hand for the last gumdrop.
"You're silly; but you're rather nice, after all," says she, poutin'
her lips at me.
"Now quit that," says I. "I got my fingers crossed."
"'Fraid cat!" says she. "But here's the house, and we're frightfully
early. Now don't act as though you thought I might bite you. I'm
going to take your arm."
She does too, and cuddles up kittenish as we lands at the porte
cochère. I gets the idea of this move. She's caught a glimpse of a
little group over by the front door, and she wants to make a showy
entrance.
And who do you guess it is we finds arrangin' the flower vases? Oh,
only Marjorie and Miss Vee. Here I am too, with giddy Gladys, the
imitation front row girl, clingin' tight to my right wing. You should
have seen Vee's eyebrows go up, also Marjorie's stare. It's a minute
or so before she recognizes our little friend, and stands there lookin'
puzzled at us. Talk about your embarrassin' stage waits! I could feel
my face pinkin' up and my ears tinglin'.
"Ah, say," I breaks out, "don't tell me I've gone and collected the
wrong one!"
At that there comes a giggle from under the zippy lid.
"Why, it's Gladys!" says Marjorie. "Well, I never!"
"Of course, you dear old goose!" says Gladys, and rushes to a clinch.
"But--but, Gladys!" says Marjorie, holdin' her off for another
inspection. "How you have--er--grown up! Why, your mother never told
me a word!"
"Oh, Mummah!" says she, indicatin' deep scorn. "Besides, she hasn't
seen me for nearly two days, and--well, I suppose she will fuss, as
usual, about the way I'm dressed. But I've had a perfectly glorious
visit, and coming up in the car with dear Torchy was such sport.
Wasn't it, now?" With which she turns to me.
"Was it?" says I, and I notices both Vee and Marjorie gazin' at me
int'rested.
"Of course," says Gladys, prattlin' on, "we quarreled all the way up;
but it was all his fault, and he--oh, phsaw! Here come my dear
parents."
Takin' Gladys as a sample, you'd never guessed it; for Mother is a
quiet, modest appearin' little party, with her wavy brown hair parted
in the middle and brushed back low. She's wearin' her own complexion
too, and, while she's dressed more or less neat and stylish, she don't
sport ear danglers, or anything like that. With Father in the
background she comes sailin' up smilin', and it ain't until she gets a
peek under the mush-bowl lid that her expression changes.
"Why, Gladys!" she gasps.
"Now, Mummah!" protests Gladys peevish. "For goodness sake don't
begin--anyway, not here!"
"But--but, my dear!" goes on Mother, starin' at her shocked.
"That--that hat! And your hair! And--and your face!"
"Oh, bother!" says Gladys, stampin' her high-heeled pump. "You'd like
to have me dress like Cousin Tilly, I suppose?"
"But you know I asked you not to--to have that done to your hair
again," says Mother.
"And I said I would, so there!" says Gladys emphatic.
Mother sighs and turns to Father, who is makin' his inspection with a
weary look on his face. He's just an average, stout-built,
good-natured lookin' duck, Father is, a little bald in front, and just
now he's rubbin' the bald spot sort of aimless.
"You see, Arthur," says Mother. "Can't you do something?"
First Father scowls, and then he flushes up. "Why--er--ah--oh, blast
it all, Sallie, don't put it up to me!" says he. Then he pulls out a
long black cigar, bites the end off savage, and beats it around the
corner.
That was a brilliant move of his; for Mother turns out to be one of the
weepy kind, and in a minute more she's slumped into a chair and is
sobbin' away. She's sure she don't know why Gladys should do such
things. Hadn't she forbid her to use so much rouge and powder? Hadn't
she asked her not to wear those hideous ear jewels? And so on and so
on, with Gladys standin' back poutin' defiant. But, say, when they get
too big to spank, what else can Father and Mother do?
Fin'lly Vee seems to have an idea. She whispers it into Marjorie's
ear, slips into the house, and comes back with a hand mirror and a damp
washcloth, which she proceeds to offer to Gladys, suggestin' that she
use it.
"Indeed I sha'n't!" says Gladys, her big eyes flashin' scrappy. "I
shall stay just as I am, and if Mother wants to be foolish she can get
over it, that's all!" And Gladys switches over to a porch chair and
slams herself into it.
Vee looks at her a minute, and then bites her upper lip like she was
keepin' back some remarks. Next she whispers again to Marjorie, who
passes it on to Mother, and then the three of 'em disappears in the
house, leavin' Gladys poutin' on one side of the front door, and me in
a porch swing on the other waitin' for the next act.
Must have been ten minutes or more before the two plotters appears
again, chattin' away merry with Mother, who's between 'em. And, say,
you should have seen Mother! Talk about your startlin' changes!
They'd been busy with the make-up box, them two had, and now Mother's
got on just as much war paint as Daughter--maybe a little more. Also
they've dug up a blond transformation somewhere, which covers up all
the brown hair, and they've fitted her out with long jet earrings, and
touched up her eyebrows--and, believe me, with all that yellow hair
down over her eyes, and the rouged lips, she looks just like she'd
strayed in from the White Light district!
You wouldn't think just a little store hair and face calcimine could
make such a change in anybody. Honest, when I tumbles to the fact that
this sporty lookin' female is only Mother fixed up I almost falls out
of the swing! That's nothin' to the jolt that gets to Gladys.
"Mother!" she gasps. "Wha--what have you been doing?"
"Why, I've been getting ready for the tea, Gladys," says she.
"But--but, Mother," says Gladys, "you're never going to let people see
you like that, are you?"
"Why not, my dear?" says Mother.
"But your face--ugh!" says Gladys.
"Oh, bother!" says Mother. "I suppose you'd like to have me look like
Aunt Martha?"
Gladys stares at her for awhile with her eyes wide and set, like she
was watchin' somethin' horrible that she couldn't turn away from, and
then she goes to pieces in a weepin' fit of her own. Nobody
interferes, and right in the midst of it she breaks off, marches over
to a wicker porch table where the mirror and washcloth had been left,
props the glass up against a vase, and goes to work. First off she
sheds the pearl earrings.
At that Mother sits down opposite and follows suit with her jet
danglers.
Next Gladys mops off the scenic effect.
Marjorie produces another washcloth, and Mother makes a clean sweep too.
Gladys snatches out a handful of gold hairpins, destroys the turban
twist that Marie had spent so much time buildin' up, and knots 'er hair
simple in the back.
Mother caps this by liftin' off the blond transformation.
And as I left for a stroll around the grounds they'd both got back to
lookin' more or less nice and natural. They had gone to a close clinch
and was sobbin' affectionate on each other's shoulders.
Later the tea got under way and went on as such things generally do,
with folks comin' and goin', and a buzz of chin music that you could
hear clear out to the gate, where I was waitin' with Martin until we
should get the signal to start back.
I didn't know just how it would be, but I suspected I might be invited
to ride in front on the home trip. I'd made up my mind to start there,
anyway. But, say, when the time comes and Vee trips out to the
limousine, where I'm holdin' the door open and lookin' sheepish, I
takes a chance on a glance into them gray eyes of hers. I got a chill
too. It's only for a second, though. She was doing her best to look
cold and distant; but behind that I could spot a smile. So I changes
the programme.
"Say," says I, followin' her in and shuttin' the door, "wa'n't that kid
Gladys the limit, though?"
"Why," says she, givin' me the quizzin' stare, "I thought you had just
loads of fun coming up."
"Hearing which cruel words," says I, "our hero strode moodily into his
castle."
Vee snickers at that. "And locked the haughty maiden out in the cold,
I suppose?" says she.
"If it was you," says I, "I'd take the gate off the hinges."
"Silly!" says she. "Do you know, Gladys looked real sweet afterward."
"I'll bet the reform don't last, though," says I. "But that was a
great scheme of yours for persuadin' her to scrub off the stencil work.
There's so many of that kind nowadays, maybe the idea would be worth
copyrightin'. What do you think, Vee?"
Never mind the rest, though. We had a perfectly good ride back, and up
to date Aunty ain't wise to it.
Of course by next mornin' too Mr. Robert has forgot all about the
afternoon before, and he seems surprised when I puts in an expense bill
of twenty-five cents.
"What's this for?" says he.
"Gumdrops for little Gladys," says I, and as he forks over a quarter I
never cracks a smile.
Wait until he hears the returns from Marjorie, though! I'll give him
some string to pay up for that kindergarten steer of his. Watch me!