By this time they were in the living room and in full view of the
whole company. Cornelia was standing in the doorway, with Maxwell
just behind.
It seemed that Clytie had chosen the moment when her remark would be
best heard by every one, and a horrible silence followed it, as if
some deadly explosive had suddenly been flung down in their midst.
Maxwell heard a sudden little breathless exclamation from Cornelia.
He flung a swift glance around the company. Grace Kendall stood
quietly apart. Brand Barlock looked amused with a keen appraisement
of the effect of Clytie’s words on every one present. Carey, caught
by the unexpected momentum of the girl’s action, was whirled about in
spite of himself, and recovered his balance angrily, flinging her off.
“What’s the matter with you?” he said in a low, muttering tone; then,
trying to recover his politeness in the face of everybody, he added
haughtily, “No, we haven’t got a victrola, I’m thankful to say!” and
he cast a swift furtive glance at the minister’s daughter. What must
she think of him for having a girl like that make free with him. His
face was crimson, and for the first time since he had known Clytie
Dodd he put the question to himself whether she was exactly the kind
of girl he wanted for an intimate friend.
The silence in the room was intense. There seemed to be a kind of
spell over the onlookers that no one was able to break. Clytie looked
defiantly about upon them, and felt she had the floor.
“Oh, well, be a boob if you want. You ain’t the only pebble on the
beach. Come on, Brand. Let’s do the shimmy. You can whistle if no one
knows how to play.” It was plain that she was angry, and did not care
what she said or did. Carey had turned white and miserable, Cornelia
looked ready to drop. Young Maxwell noticed the worn hands of the
father clinch and his face grow gray and drawn. Mr. Copley gave the
impression that he would like above all things to take Clytie in
thumb and finger and, holding her at arm’s length, eject her from
the room as one would get rid of some vulgar little animal that was
making an unpleasant scene.
The young man gave one more swift look at the annoyed face of the
girl beside him, and then stepped forward, noticing as he did so that
even Brand was a bit annoyed at the turn affairs had taken. Even he
saw that Clytie’s suggestion was out of place.
“Miss Dodd,” said Maxwell in a clear, commanding voice, with a
pleasant smile that at once held Clytie Dodd’s attention. She turned
to him eagerly, all too evidently expecting he was going to offer
to dance with her; and the rest of the little audience stood in
breathless waiting. “I’m sure you won’t mind if we interrupt you.
Miss Copley was just going to play for some singing. You’ll join us,
of course. I’m sure you have a good voice, and we want everybody.
Let’s all gather around the piano.”
He turned with a swift appeal to Cornelia to bear him out. He had
taken a chance, of course. What if Miss Copley did not play? But
there was the piano, and there was music scattered about. Somebody
must play.
A little breathless gasp went from one to another in visible relief
as Cornelia came forward quickly, summoning a wan smile to her
lips, trying to steady her fingers to select something from the
mass of music on the piano that would meet the present need. Her
music did not include many popular favorites, a few that Carey had
brought home, that was all. But this if ever was the time to bring
it forth. Ah! Here was “Tim Rooney’s at the Fightin’.” It would do
as well as anything, and she placed it on the piano, and forced her
fingers into the opening chords, not daring to look around the room,
wondering what Clytie Dodd was doing now, and how she was taking her
interruption.
But Maxwell was not idle. She felt his protective presence behind
her. He was summoning every one into the chorus, even the father; and
he asked Clytie Dodd whether she didn’t sing alto, a challenge which
won a giggling acknowledgment from her.
“I thought so,” he said. “I can almost always tell when people sing
alto. Then come over on this side of the piano with me. I sing
bass; and Mr. Copley, are you bass, too? I thought so. Now, you two
fellows,”—turning to Brand and Carey, who were standing abashed
in the background, uncomfortable and half ready to bolt, but much
impressed by the tactics of the stranger,—“it’s up to you to sing
tenor. You’ve got to, whether you can or not, you know, because we
can’t do it, and it’s obvious that we have to have four parts. Miss
Kendall sings soprano, doesn’t she? And Miss Copley. Now, we’re off!
Give us those chords again, please.”
He started off himself with a splendid voice, and even a lame singer
found it easy to follow. They all had good voices, and, while no
one felt exactly like singing after a big dinner, they nevertheless
stumbled along bravely, and before the second verse was reached were
making quite a gallant chorus.
Before they had sung three songs they were quite in the spirit of the
thing; and Harry and Louise, emerging from a last delicious dish of
water-ice, joined in heartily, lending their young voices vigorously.
Clytie proved to have a tolerable voice. It was a bit louder than was
necessary, with a nasal twang now and then; but it blended well with
the other voices, and was not too obvious. Even Mr. Copley seemed to
have forgotten the unpleasant happening of a few moments before, and
was singing as lustily as when he was a young man.
Only Cornelia felt the tense strain of it all. They could not sing
always. Sometime it would have to stop, and what would happen then?
The wonderful stranger could not always be expected to step in and
pilot the little ship of the evening safely past all rocks. He had
done wonders, and she would never cease to be grateful to him, but,
oh, if he would go home at once as soon as they stopped singing, and
not be there to witness further vulgarities! Grace Kendall, too. But
then Grace understood somewhat. Grace was a minister’s daughter.
What, oh, _what_ could they do next to suppress that awful girl?
Cornelia’s head throbbed, and her face grew white and anxious. She
cast an occasional glance at Carey who was singing away vigorously
out of the same book with Grace Kendall, and wished she might weave a
spell and waft all the rest of the guests away, leaving her brother
to the influence of this sweet, natural girl. How could she manage
to obviate another embarrassing situation? But it seemed as if the
brain that had brought out so many lovely changes in a dismal old
house, that had planned so carefully every detail of this evening
and looked far ahead to results in the lives of her dear ones, had
utterly refused to act any longer. Her nerve was shaken, and she
could scarcely keep the tears back. Oh, if there were some one to
help her! Then her heart took up its newly acquired habit, and cried
out to God: “O God, send me help. What shall I do next?”
As if young Maxwell read her thoughts, he turned at the close of the
song, and, addressing them all promiscuously, said: “I guess we’re
about sung out for a while, aren’t we? I’m hoarse as a fog-horn. Miss
Dodd, why don’t you teach me how to play this game? I’ve been looking
at it for quite a while, and it fascinates me. I believe I could beat
you at it. Suppose we try.”
Clytie giggled, quite flattered. It was a feather in her cap to have
this handsome stranger paying her marked attention. His car was even
finer than Brand Barlock’s. Not so sporty, perhaps, but much sweller.
And the man was older, besides. It was something wonderful to have
made a hit with him. She preened herself, still giggling, and sat
down at the table, eying with indulgent curiosity the little board
with its colored squares and bright carved men.
“I d’no’z I know m’self,” she vouchsafed, glinting her beringed
fingers among the bits of colored wood. “Whaddaya do, anyhow?”
Cornelia, with a flush of gratitude in her face, gave a brief clew to
the object of the game; and they were soon deep in the attempt to get
their men each into the other’s territory first.
Clytie was clever and soon got the idea of the game. She might have
grown restive under it and petulant if she had been playing with
some people, but Maxwell could be interesting when he chose to
exert himself; and he was choosing just now, studying the calibre
of the girl before him and leading her in spite of herself to take
a real interest in what she was doing. To tell the truth, Clytie
was interested in a man of almost any kind, especially if he was
good-looking, but this particular man was a specimen different from
any that had ever come into her path in a friendly way before. She
had met such men as this only in a business way when she was ordered
curtly to write a business letter over again or told she could not
hold her position in an office unless she stopped chewing gum and
talking so much to the other stenographers. Never had a man of this
sort stepped down from his height to be really nice to her; and she
was not only astonished, but pleased at it. There was nothing of the
personal about his manner, just a nice, pleasant, friendly way of
taking it for granted that she liked being talked to, and was as good
as anybody; and it gave her a new feeling of self-respect that she
would never forget, even if she never met the man again.
Cornelia, watching furtively and thankfully from her corner where
she was showing Brand Barlock a book of college photographs and
explaining some of the college jokes inscribed beneath them,
marvelled at his patience and skill. She had not known him long, only
two hours; but he was so obviously of another world from this girl,
and yet was making her feel so entirely comfortable and happy, that
she felt humiliated and ashamed that she had not been able to do
the same for the girl. She had invited her with a real feeling that
she might be able to help her somehow; at least, that was what she
thought she had for one of her objects; but now she began to suspect
that perhaps she had in reality desired to humiliate the girl and put
her into such a position that Carey would not want to go with her
any longer. The girl had shown that she was unhappy and out of her
element, and Cornelia had not helped her to find any possible basis
for understanding with those about her. It was all wrong, and she
ought to have gone further into things and planned to uplift that
girl, even if she didn’t want to lift her up to the social plane
of her own brother. There might be senses in which Carey wasn’t so
very much higher than the girl, too. He needed uplifting a lot. Of
course that girl wouldn’t help lift him nor he her as things were;
but Cornelia had had no right whatever to humble her for the sake of
saving her brother.
Maxwell was tactful. He managed to draw Louise and Brand Barlock
into the game after a while; and, when they had grown tired of that,
he led them into the dining-room, where Carey and Grace had just
finished a game of ping-pong on the dining-room table, and insisted
that they four play a set. Brand soon gave up his racket to Harry,
and drifted into the other room; but it was half past ten when the
others came back into the living room, where Grace Kendall was
singing some Scotch songs, and sat down to listen.
Cornelia looked at Clytie Dodd in surprise. All the boldness and
impudence had melted out of her face, with much of the paint and
powder that had been transferred to her handkerchief during the
heated excitement of the game. Her hair had lost its tortured look,
and her face was just that of an ordinary happy little girl who had
been having a good, healthy time. She felt almost on an equality
with the people around her because this nice man had been nice
to her. She rather hated that yellow-haired girl in blue who had
absorbed the attention of her own two special satellites, but what
were they but kids beside this man of the world? She stole a look at
his fine, strong face, and had perhaps a fleeting vision of what it
might be to have a man friend such as he was; and who shall say but
a fleeting revelation, too, of what a girl must be to have such a
friend? She saw him look across the room to where his young hostess
sat, and smile, a smile with a kind of mysterious light to it like
signal-lights at sea. She looked curiously to where Carey’s sister
sat, and saw with a startled new insight how young and really lovely
this girl was; and she sat silent, a little wondering, in unwonted
thoughtfulness.
Grace Kendall finished her song, and suddenly whirled around on the
piano-stool, and looked at her watch.
“Oh, my dear!” she said, glancing up at Cornelia. “Do you see what
time it is? And I have to be up at half past five tomorrow morning to
get father’s breakfast before he goes to New York. I must say, ‘Good
night,’ and hurry right home.”
Both Carey and Brand rose, and hurried up to her in a confidential
way.
“I’ll take you—” began Carey.
“My car is right at the door,” put in Brand dictatorially. “I’ll take
you, of course.”
Carey looked vexed, then met Brand’s eyes sheepishly.
“Well, I’ll take her, and you can drive,” he said; and then suddenly
they both looked at Clytie, and their tongues clove to the roofs of
their mouths, for Clytie had risen with black brows, her sullen,
defiant glance returning.
Then Maxwell stepped forward as if he had heard nothing.
“Miss Dodd, my car is here. I’ll be glad to see that you get safely
home”; and Clytie’s face cleared. She sped upstairs to get her wraps.
“Haven’t we had a beautiful time?” said Grace Kendall, putting an
intimate arm around her as they reached the top of the stairs. “I
think they’re just charming people. Do you know you have a lovely
alto voice? Do you live near here? We’d love to have you in our young
people’s choir if you don’t belong somewhere else.”
“Where is’t?” asked Clytie casually, half suspiciously. She was
surprised that there was no look of rivalry in the face of the
girl who had obviously carried off both the younger men from her
following; but it seemed as if this strangely sweet girl did not
realize that she had done such a thing, did not even seem to have
wanted to do it. Clytie suddenly smiled, and showed the first glimpse
of real simplicity and childlikeness that had been visible that
evening. She was little more than a child, anyway, and perhaps would
not have gone in her present ways if any other that promised a little
pleasure had been opened to her.
“No, I don’t b’long nowheres,” she giggled, “not since I was a kid. I
useta go ta two er three Sunday schools, but I cut ’em all out after
I grew up. Took too much time. I like my Sundays fer fun. That’s when
you get the most auto rides, you know. But I wouldn’t mind singing
sometime, mebbe.”
When they came downstairs, they were arm in arm and chatting quite
pleasantly. Grace had promised to come and see her, and take her to
Christian Endeavor the next Sunday night and introduce her to the
leader of the young people’s choir; and Cornelia, waiting to receive
her guests’ farewell, wondered and was thankful.
They all went out together, talking a bit loudly and hilariously,
Clytie’s voice now raised in her old shrill, uncultured clang.
Maxwell lingering for a moment in the doorway, spoke to Cornelia.
“I want to thank you for letting me come.”
She turned to him with a look of suffering in her eyes.
“I don’t know what you must think of us,” she said in a low tone,
“having that impossible girl here! An invited guest!”
He looked down at her, smiling with a hint of tenderness in his look,
for he saw that she was very tired.
“I think you are a brave girl,” he said earnestly. “And I think your
experiment was a success. May I come back a few minutes, and help
wash dishes? I’m taking your young brother Harry with me, and shall
have to bring him back, you know. We’ll talk it all over then.”
He touched his hat, and vanished into the starlit night.
Cornelia flushed, wondering, half dismayed, ready to drop with
fatigue, yet strangely elated. She stood a moment in the doorway,
looking after the two cars as they whirled away down the street, and
letting the cool evening breeze blow on her hot forehead, then turned
back to the bright, pretty room, somehow soothed and comforted. A
thought had come to her. She had prayed for help, and God had sent
it; right into the midst of her consternation He had sent that young
man to help! And how he had helped! What a tower of strength he had
been all the awful evening!
But then Louise fell upon her with joyful exclamations.
“It _was_ a success, Nellie, wasn’t it? A great success! Wasn’t he
_great_? Wasn’t it wonderful that father should have found him and
brought him in? Wasn’t it just like an answer, Nellie, don’t you
think? He kept her away from Carey all the evening, and Carey had a
lovely time with Miss Kendall. And Brand said he had a good time,
too, and told me he wished you would ask him again. He talked to me
a lot while you were talking to the others. He said he’d take us all
out in his car sometime if you would go; and he said he thought you
were a wonderful sister, and a beautiful girl! He did, Nellie, he
said it just like that, ‘Your sister is a _bee-yew_-ti-ful girl’! And
he meant it! And it was true, Nellie; you did look just wonderful.
Your cheeks were such a pretty pink, and you didn’t have your nose
all white like that Clytie. Say, I guess she saw it wasn’t nice to be
the way she is, don’t you think she did? I don’t think she had such
an awfully nice time either. I don’t think she liked it the way Carey
acted. I guess maybe she’ll let him alone some now, and I hope she
does. My, I hope she does! I didn’t think he liked her being here,
either, did you, Nellie? And say didn’t the water-ice look lovely?
And the table was the prettiest thing! Miss Kendall said she never
saw such a pretty table. She said you were an artist, Nellie. And
Mr. Maxwell, he couldn’t say enough things about the house. Even that
Brand said he wished he had a nice cozy home like this. He said his
sister didn’t have time to get up birthday parties, or his mother,
either; they had to have a whole townful when they had parties, and
he just loved it tonight. He said twice he wished you’d ask him
again. I guess he means to stick, Nellie; will you like that?”
“He’s not so bad,” said Cornelia, patting the little girl’s cheek.
“I think maybe we can find a way to help him a little if we try. And
I think maybe we ought not to feel so hard toward that poor, foolish
girl, either, dearie. Now, come, kitty dear, you ought to be in bed.”
“’Deed, no, Nellie dear. I’m going to see the whole thing through,”
she chanted, hopping around on the tips of her toes. “We’ve got to
wash the dishes. Harry said that Mr. Maxwell was coming back to help,
too. We better get some clean aprons ready.”
“Where is father, Louie? Did he go up to bed?”
“Oh, no, he went with Brand and Carey and Miss Kendall. They asked
him, and he seemed real pleased. I shouldn’t wonder if Brand will
come back too, and help. He asked me if he might. I said I guessed
you wouldn’t care. I thought if he didn’t maybe he’d carry Carey off
for all night or something.”
Cornelia stooped, and kissed the sweet, anxious little face.
“It’s all right, dearie, and I guess everything’s all right. Somehow
we came out of an awful place tonight, and I guess God means to see
us through.”
“I know,” said the little girl wisely. “When Clytie danced, you mean.
That was awful, wasn’t it? Father looked—just—sick for a minute,
didn’t he? Poor daddy, he didn’t understand. And he doesn’t like
dancing. And I thought for just a minute how awful mother would feel.
She doesn’t like it either. And that girl—she was so—awful! But my!
I’m glad it’s over, aren’t you, Nellie? And say! There they come!
There’s enough water-ice for everybody to have some more. Shall we
have it? My isn’t this fun?”
They all came in, and frolicked through the dishes, Brand and Maxwell
entering into it with spirit. Brand didn’t do much helping; but
he made a show at it, and he certainly enjoyed the angel cake and
water-ice, which was most thoroughly “finished” that night. Even the
father came out into the kitchen, and watched the fun, and talked
with Maxwell, who was flourishing a dish-towel and polishing glasses
as if he had always done it.
Harry and Maxwell grew very chummy, and Maxwell declared that he was
under deep obligation to the boy for his supper.
“How about it, Mr. Copley? Will you let this boy take a trip with me
sometime pretty soon? I’m to go after mother in a week or so now,
and I’d like mighty well to have his company. I shall probably start
next Friday, sometime in the afternoon, and expect to get back Monday
sometime. That wouldn’t take him out of school many hours, and I
think we’d have a first-rate time. Would you like it, son?”
Harry’s eager face needed no words to express his joy. His eyes
fairly sparkled.
The young man took a business card from his pocket, and handed it to
Mr. Copley.
“I’m really an utter stranger to you, you know,” he said with a
smile; “and I can understand how you wouldn’t want to trust your
boy to a stranger. I shall consider it a favor if you will look me
up; ask any of the men in my firm about me. I want you to be sure
about me, because I intend to come again if you will let me. I’m not
running any risk of losing such perfectly good new friends as you all
are, and I want Harry for the trip.”
Mr. Copley looked the young man over admiringly.
“Don’t you think I can tell a _man_ when I see one?” he asked
amusedly. “It’s generally written on his face, and no one can
mistake.”
“Thank you,” said Maxwell. “That _is_ a compliment!”
After the dishes were done there were the ferns to be unboxed and
admired, and it was after midnight when at last the two young men
said, “Good night,” and drove away, each with the hearty assurance
that he had had a wonderful time and wanted to come again soon.
When Cornelia went up to her room and took off her apron, out of its
pocket fell a letter which she had received that morning and had
been too busy to read. She opened it now. It was a brief, rattling
epistle from one of her classmates in college, begging her to put off
everything else for a few days and come to a house-party with them
all. It was to be down at Atlantic City, near enough to home not to
make the trip expensive; and they all were crazy to see her again
and tell her all about commencement. She smiled reminiscently as she
laid it away in her desk-drawer, and found to her surprise that she
had no great desire to go. She knew what the party would be, full of
rollicking fun, and care-free every minute of it; but somehow her
heart and soul were now in her home and the new life that was opening
before her. She wanted to finish the house; to make the white kitchen
as charming in its way as the other rooms were getting to be; to
help Carey plan a front porch he had said he would build with stone
pillars; to set out some plants in the yard, finish the bedrooms, and
make out a list of new furniture for the carpenter next door to buy.
The minister had said he knew of some people who were refurnishing
their house and wanted her professional advice. She wanted to stay
and work. Mr. Maxwell was coming to take them all motoring some
evening, too; and Brand had declared he would bring his sister around
to call, and they would go out to ride. Life was opening up full and
beautiful. College and its days seemed far away and almost childish.
Tomorrow morning she and Grace Kendall were going to make curtains
for one of the Sunday-school classrooms. Carey had promised to help
put them up. Oh, life wasn’t half bad! Even Clytie Amabel Dodd did
not loom so formidable as earlier in the evening. She knelt and
thanked God.