After the vacation Claude again settled down to his reading in
the University Library. He worked at a table next the alcove
where the books on painting and sculpture were kept. The art
students, all of whom were girls, read and whispered together in
this enclosure, and he could enjoy their company without having
to talk to them. They were lively and friendly; they often asked
him to lift heavy books and portfolios from the shelves, and
greeted him gaily when he met them in the street or on the
campus, and talked to him with the easy cordiality usual between
boys and girls in a co-educational school. One of these girls,
Miss Peachy Millmore, was different from the others,--different
from any girl Claude had ever known. She came from Georgia, and
was spending the winter with her aunt on B street.
Although she was short and plump, Miss Millmore moved with what
might be called a "carriage," and she had altogether more manner
and more reserve than the Western girls. Her hair was yellow and
curly,--the short ringlets about her ears were just the colour of
a new chicken. Her vivid blue eyes were a trifle too prominent,
and a generous blush of colour mantled her cheeks. It seemed to
pulsate there,-one had a desire to touch her cheeks to see if
they were hot. The Erlich brothers and their friends called her
"the Georgia peach." She was considered very pretty, and the
University boys had rushed her when she first came to town. Since
then her vogue had somewhat declined.
Miss Millmore often lingered about the campus to walk down town
with Claude. However he tried to adapt his long stride to her
tripping gait, she was sure to get out of breath. She was always
dropping her gloves or her sketchbook or her purse, and he liked
to pick them up for her, and to pull on her rubbers, which kept
slipping off at the heel. She was very kind to single him out and
be so gracious to him, he thought. She even coaxed him to pose in
his track clothes for the life class on Saturday morning, telling
him that he had "a magnificent physique," a compliment which
covered him with confusion. But he posed, of course.
Claude looked forward to seeing Peachy Millmore, missed her if
she were not in the alcove, found it quite natural that she
should explain her absences to him,--tell him how often she
washed her hair and how long it was when she uncoiled it.
One Friday in February Julius Erlich overtook Claude on the
campus and proposed that they should try the skating tomorrow.
"Yes, I'm going out," Claude replied. "I've promised to teach
Miss Millmore to skate. Won't you come along and help me?"
Julius laughed indulgently. "Oh, no! Some other time. I don't
want to break in on that."
"Nonsense! You could teach her better than I."
"Oh, I haven't the courage!"
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean."
"No, I don't. Why do you always laugh about that girl, anyhow?"
Julius made a little grimace. "She wrote some awfully slushy
letters to Phil Bowen, and he read them aloud at the frat house
one night."
"Didn't you slap him?" Claude demanded, turning red.
"Well, I would have thought I would," said Julius smiling, "but I
didn't. They were too silly to make a fuss about. I've been wary
of the Georgia peach ever since. If you touched that sort of
peach ever so lightly, it might remain in your hand."
"I don't think so," replied Claude haughtily. "She's only
kind-hearted."
"Perhaps you're right. But I'm terribly afraid of girls who are
too kindhearted," Julius confessed. He had wanted to drop Claude
a word of warning for some time.
Claude kept his engagement with Miss Millmore. He took her out to
the skating pond several times, indeed, though in the beginning
he told her he feared her ankles were too weak. Their last
excursion was made by moonlight, and after that evening Claude
avoided Miss Millmore when he could do so without being rude. She
was attractive to him no more. It was her way to subdue by
clinging contact. One could scarcely call it design; it was a
degree less subtle than that. She had already thus subdued a pale
cousin in Atlanta, and it was on this account that she had been
sent North. She had, Claude angrily admitted, no reserve,--though
when one first met her she seemed to have so much. Her eager
susceptibility presented not the slightest temptation to him. He
was a boy with strong impulses, and he detested the idea of
trifling with them. The talk of the disreputable men his father
kept about the place at home, instead of corrupting him, had
given him a sharp disgust for sensuality. He had an almost
Hippolytean pride in candour.
X
The Erlich family loved anniversaries, birthdays, occasions. That
spring Mrs. Erlich's first cousin, Wilhelmina Schroeder-Schatz,
who sang with the Chicago Opera Company, came to Lincoln as
soloist for the May Festival. As the date of her engagement
approached, her relatives began planning to entertain her. The
Matinee Musical was to give a formal reception for the singer, so
the Erlichs decided upon a dinner. Each member of the family
invited one guest, and they had great difficulty in deciding
which of their friends would be most appreciative of the honour.
There were to be more men than women, because Mrs. Erlich
remembered that cousin Wilhelmina had never been partial to the
society of her own sex.
One evening when her sons were revising their list, Mrs. Erlich
reminded them that she had not as yet named her guest. "For me,"
she said with decision, "you may put down Claude Wheeler."
This announcement was met with groans and laughter.
"You don't mean it, Mother," the oldest son protested. "Poor old
Claude wouldn't know what it was all about,--and one stick can
spoil a dinner party."
Mrs. Erlich shook her finger at him with conviction. "You will
see; your cousin Wilhelmina will be more interested in that boy
than in any of the others!"
Julius thought if she were not too strongly opposed she might
still yield her point. "For one thing, Mother, Claude hasn't any
dinner clothes," he murmured. She nodded to him. "That has been
attended to, Herr Julius. He is having some made. When I sounded
him, he told me he could easily afford it."
The boys said if things had gone as far as that, they supposed
they would have to make the best of it, and the eldest wrote down
"Claude Wheeler" with a flourish.
If the Erlich boys were apprehensive, their anxiety was nothing
to Claude's. He was to take Mrs. Erlich to Madame
Schroeder-Schatz's recital, and on the evening of the concert,
when he appeared at the door, the boys dragged him in to look him
over. Otto turned on all the lights, and Mrs. Erlich, in her new
black lace over white satin, fluttered into the parlour to see
what figure her escort cut.
Claude pulled off his overcoat as he was bid, and presented
himself in the sooty blackness of fresh broadcloth. Mrs. Erlich's
eyes swept his long black legs, his smooth shoulders, and lastly
his square red head, affectionately inclined toward her. She
laughed and clapped her hands.
"Now all the girls will turn round in their seats to look, and
wonder where I got him!"
Claude began to bestow her belongings in his overcoat pockets;
opera glasses in one, fan in another. She put a lorgnette into
her little bag, along with her powder-box, handkerchief and
smelling salts,--there was even a little silver box of peppermint
drops, in case she might begin to cough. She drew on her long
gloves, arranged a lace scarf over her hair, and at last was
ready to have the evening cloak which Claude held wound about
her. When she reached up and took his arm, bowing to her sons,
they laughed and liked Claude better. His steady, protecting air
was a frame for the gay little picture she made.
The dinner party came off the next evening. The guest of honour,
Madame Wilhelmina Schroeder-Schatz, was some years younger than
her cousin, Augusta Erlich. She was short, stalwart, with an
enormous chest, a fine head, and a commanding presence. Her great
contralto voice, which she used without much discretion, was a
really superb organ and gave people a pleasure as substantial as
food and drink. At dinner she sat on the right of the oldest son.
Claude, beside Mrs. Erlich at the other end of the table, watched
attentively the lady attired in green velvet and blazing
rhinestones.
After dinner, as Madame Schroeder-Schatz swept out of the dining
room, she dropped her cousin's arm and stopped before Claude, who
stood at attention behind his chair.
"If Cousin Augusta can spare you, we must have a little talk
together. We have been very far separated," she said.
She led Claude to one of the window seats in the living-room, at
once complained of a draft, and sent him to hunt for her green
scarf. He brought it and carefully put it about her shoulders;
but after a few moments, she threw it off with a slightly annoyed
air, as if she had never wanted it. Claude with solicitude
reminded her about the draft.
"Draft?" she said lifting her chin, "there is no draft here."
She asked Claude where he lived, how much land his father owned,
what crops they raised, and about their poultry and dairy. When
she was a child she had lived on a farm in Bavaria, and she
seemed to know a good deal about farming and live-stock. She was
disapproving when Claude told her they rented half their land to
other farmers. "If I were a young man, I would begin to acquire
land, and I would not stop until I had a whole county," she
declared. She said that when she met new people, she liked to
find out the way they made their living; her own way was a hard
one.
Later in the evening Madame Schroeder-Schatz graciously consented
to sing for her cousins. When she sat down to the piano, she
beckoned Claude and asked him to turn for her. He shook his head,
smiling ruefully.
"I'm sorry I'm so stupid, but I don't know one note from
another."
She tapped his sleeve. "Well, never mind. I may want the piano
moved yet; you could do that for me, eh?"
When Madame Schroeder-Schatz was in Mrs. Erlich's bedroom,
powdering her nose before she put on her wraps, she remarked,
"What a pity, Augusta, that you have not a daughter now, to marry
to Claude Melnotte. He would make you a perfect son-in-law."
"Ah, if I only had!" sighed Mrs. Erlich.
"Or," continued Madame Schroeder-Schatz, energetically pulling on
her large carriage shoes, "if you were but a few years younger,
it might not yet be too late. Oh, don't be a fool, Augusta! Such
things have happened, and will happen again. However, better a
widow than to be tied to a sick man--like a stone about my neck!
What a husband to go home to! and I a woman in full vigour. Jas
ist ein Kreuz ich trage!" She smote her bosom, on the left side.
Having put on first a velvet coat, then a fur mantle, Madame
Schroeder-Schatz moved like a galleon out into the living room and
kissed all her cousins, and Claude Wheeler, good-night.