THE JAZZ PARTY.
“What _do_ you think we ought to wear, Marj?” inquired Lily, as she
began to dress for the evening. “Dance frocks?”
“No, I don’t think so,” replied Marjorie thoughtfully. “We want to
look like chaperones, so we ought to appear matronly. Let’s wear dark
dresses, and put nets over our hair.”
“You’ll be suggesting that we borrow horn-rimmed spectacles next,”
joked the other.
“Anyway, I believe that I’ll put on my dark blue velvet. It has chiffon
sleeves, you know, so it would pass for an evening dress. We’re going
to drive, aren’t we?”
“Certainly. Which car?”
“Oh, use mine; you don’t care, do you, Lil?”
“It’s immaterial to me; mine’s put away, anyhow.”
They had plenty of time after supper, so they drove leisurely into the
city, arriving at the settlement at exactly half past eight. Harsh
sounds from a jazz orchestra greeted them from the basement windows as
they stopped at the curb. Evidently the dance had begun.
“Better lock your car securely,” Lily warned her companion. “The
neighborhood doesn’t seem to be any too good.”
“No, it isn’t,” agreed Marjorie, glancing around at the disreputable
looking houses on either side of the street. “John was furious when I
told him where we were coming.”
“So was Dick. He said they’d be along before eleven o’clock, as I
suggested, because he’d be worried all evening. Aren’t men silly?”
“Sometimes,” Marjorie admitted.
They opened the heavy door of the settlement, and passed down the hall,
glancing to right and left at the empty rooms and offices. Concluding
that every one must be at the party in the basement, they descended the
stairway which led to the gymnasium.
Never, in all their boarding school or college days, had they seen a
hall so elaborately, so profusely decorated. Great sheaves of wheat
were banked all around the room; enormous branches of trees covered the
apparatus; paper streamers in every color of the rainbow hung from the
lights, and confetti was scattered around the floor near the chairs,
and upon the seats. The room appeared small, although in reality it was
the standard size for a gymnasium.
“It looks crowded,” remarked Marjorie; “and yet when you count them
there really aren’t many couples dancing.”
Keeping close to the wall and carefully steering their way between the
dancers, the girls reached some seats in the corner.
“Such elaborate dresses!” Lily exclaimed, after a hasty glance from one
girl to another. “Marj, I don’t believe that one of them has sleeves in
her gown!”
“The girls certainly aren’t poor,” returned Marjorie, thinking in
amusement of the conversation she had had with Daisy that afternoon.
“And they seem to know all the latest tricks in dancing.”
“They need spanking!” denounced her companion irritably. “Look at the
way that girl is resting her head—right on her partner’s shoulder!
Dare me to stop her and advise her that if she’s tired she better go to
bed?”
“Oh, Lil, do be careful!” warned Marjorie, fearful lest she might
antagonize the girls at the very beginning. “Of course, they haven’t
had any home-training, and you can’t expect them to have our standards.”
“Well, they couldn’t possibly hear me above all this awful noise,”
returned Lily. “Did you ever hear such an apology for music in your
life?”
Marjorie, however, was not interested in the orchestra; she was there
to chaperone the girls, and if she failed in doing that, at least to
turn in a reliable report upon the evening’s entertainment. She did
not mean to waste a minute; if possible she intended to size up the
character of every girl present.
With a loud clang the jazz piece abruptly came to an end, the dancers
stopped impatiently and began to applaud uproariously. During the brief
pause before the encore, Mrs. Morgan, a stout, motherly sort of woman,
edged her way towards the visitors.
“How do you do, Ladies!” she said breezily. “Miss Winthrop’s friends,
aren’t you?”
“Yes,” replied Marjorie, rising. “Miss Gravers asked us to come to help
you chaperone the dance.”
“Well, we’re only too glad to have you,” beamed Mrs. Morgan, “and I
hope you’ll have a good time, for I can’t see as these girls need much
chaperoning. They’re pretty well behaved, as girls go, and I like to
see everybody enjoying themselves.”
“I’m sure we will,” murmured Marjorie graciously deciding, however,
that Mrs. Morgan was as near-sighted mentally as her glasses proved her
to be physically.
“Come into the office and take off your things,” she urged. “Then you
can go back and dance a bit yourselves.”
“Oh, we really don’t care to dance,” answered Lily, a trifle
scornfully. “We’re here to observe. But it will be nice to get our
things off. It’s rather warm in there.”
Marjorie hoped that Mrs. Morgan would return to the hall with them
and introduce them to the girls; such a formality would have rendered
the situation less awkward. But she conducted them only as far as the
doorway, excusing herself on the plea of duties in the kitchen.
As Marjorie and Lily re-entered the room, they felt every eye turned
piercingly towards them. The first intermission was on, and the hall
seemed strangely quiet after so much noise. The couples arranged
singly, or in groups of twos and threes about the walls, abruptly
stopped talking, and blandly stared at the newcomers. Marjorie felt as
if she had never been so embarrassed in all her life. In her confusion
she turned to Lily.
“Let’s go over to that group and try to get acquainted,” she whispered.
“All right,” agreed Lily indifferently.
As they crossed the floor they heard, to their relief, the buzz of
conversation begin again, and Marjorie made a valiant effort to get
herself in hand. To her chagrin, however, as she approached the group
in question, a coarse laugh broke out among the young men.
“Here come the Janes for some dances!” muttered an eighteen-year-old
“sport” of the neighborhood, in an audible undertone. “Look out, Aggie,
you’re goin’ a lose your little Charlie!”
Instead of admonishing the youth for his rudeness, as Marjorie hoped
she would, the young lady only giggled.
“Classmate of your grandmother’s, Charlie!” tittered another boy,
breaking into hilarious laughter at his own exquisite wit.
Covered with confusion, Marjorie slipped her arm through Lily’s and
staggered to a seat at the side. It was not until the music had
started again that she regained courage to look about her.
“Don’t take it so hard, Marj!” pleaded Lily. “They don’t faze me—only
fill me with disgust.”
“Poor Daisy—it certainly is a lucky thing she didn’t come; she’s so
sensitive that she would be in tears by now! But Lil, please don’t say
‘I told you so!’” begged Marjorie penitently. “You were right—I admit
it now—a class election is infinitely preferable to this!”
Her roommate smiled indulgently; Marjorie was always so willing to
admit it when she was wrong.
“But what are we going to do—all evening?” she inquired. “It’s silly
to sit here uselessly, and evidently these young flappers have no
intention of speaking to us.”
Marjorie resolutely assumed a look of defiance.
“I’m going to stay here until I have watched every single girl through
a whole dance. During each intermission I’m going out to make my notes.”
Lily sighed; the prospect was not alluring.
“Miss Winthrop surely will get a thorough report,” she remarked. “Which
girl are you going to begin with?”
“The one they called Aggie. I’m trying to think of a word to describe
her. ‘Mushy’ doesn’t seem soft enough!”
“You’re cruel, Marj! How old do you think she is?”
“About sixteen. I don’t think any girl on the floor is more than
seventeen.”
She was quiet for a few minutes, and Lily watched her shift her
attention to another dancer. Evidently she felt that she had succeeded
in summing up Aggie’s character to perfection.
Their entrances and exits were not especially noticed after that,
and Marjorie began to feel at the end of the sixth dance that their
presence had been entirely forgotten, when a conversation floated
towards her ears which changed her opinion. She and Lily were seated
on one side of a great sheaf of wheat; evidently directly behind it,
two girls were consulting each other in regard to the identity of their
visitors.
“Who are those dames, anyway?” demanded one voice, in a hoarse whisper.
“They’ve got their noive—pullin’ the high spy act on us!”
“I’ll bet they’re here to tattle to Miss Winthrop, if they find any
dirt,” returned the other. “Queenie, you’re the boss, why don’t you put
’em out?”
“How can I? It ain’t our room.”
“It’s ours fer t’night.”
“Aw, my opinion is, they’re only two birds from the country, who
dropped in to see the city, and took this fer a dance hall.”
“That’s a laugh. Let’s see if we can razz ’em a bit!”
“How, Clara?”
“Pretend we’ve got flasks in our pockets, and cigarettes.”
“No,” replied Queenie, authoritatively; “then we’d be out of luck for
a place to meet the rest of the year. Miss Winthrop’d never stand for
that.”
“If we told her it was only a joke——”
“All wrong, Clara. You’ve got a head, but it’s only good to keep your
hat on. Fire something else——”
“Can’t think of nuthin’——”
But Marjorie and Lily had listened to enough; they rose and crossed the
gymnasium to the door-way.
“I really have hopes of Queenie,” remarked Marjorie, “she seemed to
show a glimmer of intelligence.”
“Pretty faint,” corrected Lily scornfully. Then, catching a glimpse of
two young men at the top of the staircase, her eyes lighted up, and she
exclaimed joyfully, “They’re here, Marj! The boys, I mean. Oh, I was
never so glad to see anybody in my life!”
John Hadley and Dick Roberts, two old friends of the girls, smiled
back at them, and hurried down the steps. Never had they seemed so
fine looking, so admirable, so strong to Lily and Marjorie, as at that
moment, after their weary evening of watching the insipid, smirking,
conceited faces of the young men at the dance, and listening to their
inane chatter and coarse laughter. Marjorie breathed an audible sigh of
relief.
“Don’t tell them how awful it has been, Lil,” she cautioned. “They’d
only rave—and it’s all over now.”
“We can’t keep it from them, you know we can’t,” replied her companion.
The boys were beside them now.
“How’s the party going?” John inquired pleasantly.
“Fine,” answered Marjorie, “but I guess it will be all right for us to
leave.”
“Not till I get a look at the flappers!” Dick declared. “I want to see
what kind of a job you and Lily made of it.”
The girls exchanged glances.
“What’s the matter?” demanded John.
So Marjorie told them the story, thinking that she could make it sound
a little better than Lily might.
“We’re going in to see for ourselves!” announced Dick, at the
conclusion of the recital, “and Lily, I want you to promise me that
you’ll never come here again!”
“I’ll be only too glad to promise that,” replied the girl, with
emotion. “I’ve never gone through such an evening in my life.”
“You’d better make Marj promise the same thing, John,” Dick suggested.
“He knows better,” laughed Marjorie. “But I don’t think there’s much
danger of my ever wanting to.”
Fortified by the presence of their escorts, Marjorie and Lily
assumed a nonchalant air as they re-entered the gymnasium, and seated
themselves again upon the chairs by the wall. Instinctively they felt
the atmosphere change; it was almost as if the dancers regarded their
visitors with a real respect. The girls themselves had to conceal their
amusement.
But if the dancers were hoping that their visitors would join in the
party, they were disappointed, for, as soon as the music ceased, John
suggested that they go home.
“Mother will be waiting for us,” he said. “She said to come home early.”
He took the wheel of Marjorie’s car, while Lily climbed into Dick’s.
Side by side, they made their way to the suburbs.
It was Lily, however, who wondered whether Marjorie had been elected to
the class presidency.