ALL THE OLD GIRLS
"I've got a wonderful scheme, Edwin," said Molly when she had finally
engineered her husband out of the den and Nance in.
"I'll be bound you have. I never saw such a Mrs. Machiavelli!--First I
mustn't go in the library but stick to the den, and now that I had just
made myself at home in the den I must flee to the library."
Molly laughed at her husband's pretended discomfiture as he settled
himself to find out what was going on at the front.
"Now read the news to me while I knit. There is no knowing how soon our
own boys will be needing sweaters. I feel that every stitch I put in is
important. Mercy, what a mess my knitting is in! I do believe that
little monkey of a Mildred has been working on it. But she can't purl
at all! Someone else has done it. No one has been here but Andy."
"Well, I can't think Andy McLean would attempt a sweater," laughed
Edwin. "Maybe Nance is responsible."
"But Nance is a past master!"
"She might have been trying a one-handed stunt and failed. I don't
believe even Prussian efficiency could knit and get proposed to and
accept all at the same time. Under the circumstances I think she should
be forgiven for purling where she should have knitted and knitting where
she should have purled."
"You sound like the prayer book," said Molly, patiently pulling out
stitches and deftly picking up where Andy asked to hold Nance's hand. "I
almost feel as though I were committing a sacrilege. This sweater is
like a piece of tapestry where the lady has recorded her emotions, using
the medium she knew best. I just know dear old Nance tried to go on with
her work all the time Andy was making love," and Molly wiped a wee tear
off on the ball of yarn.
"I tell you that sweater could tell tales if it could speak," teased
Edwin. "Why don't you sew in one of your golden hairs so that the happy
soldier who finally gets it will have some inkling of how the beautiful
girl looks who made it?"
"Silly! But don't you want to hear what my scheme is?"
"Dying to!"
"I am going to try to get the old Queen's girls, that is our 'special
crowd, to come to Nance's wedding. Katherine and Edith Williams are both
in New York; Judy is there; Otoyo Sen is in Boston; Margaret Wakefield
is in Washington; Jessie Lynch is in Philadelphia----"
"Are there no husbands?"
"Oh, yes, plenty of them, but I'm not going to invite husbands! The
babies can come if the mothers can't leave them, but the husbands are
not invited. Katherine Williams and Jessie Lynch are the only ones who
are still in single blessedness."
"Are you going to have them all stay here?" asked Edwin in amazement,
never having quite accustomed himself to Molly's wholesale hospitality.
"Of course! I can manage it finely. That will be only six extra ones.
Why, at Chatsworth we had that much company any time. This house is
really almost as big as Chatsworth and there we had our huge family to
put away besides."
"All I can say is that you are a wonder, but please don't break yourself
down over this wedding. What does Nance say to it?"
"I haven't asked her, but I know she is dying to see all the girls
together. We have often talked about it, and wedding or no wedding I was
going to try to get them here this next month. Otoyo has already
promised to come, you remember, and now she can just hurry up and get
here for the wedding. She will have to bring Cho-Cho-San, who is just a
bit older than Mildred. They can have great times together. You don't
mind, do you, honey?"
"Mind! Of course not! You know I like company. I was just afraid you
were giving yourself too large an order."
Nance, on being consulted, thought it would be wonderful to see all the
old girls again before embarking on her great adventure, so letters were
forthwith written and sent to the six friends, who one and all joyfully
accepted. Business, husbands, babies, society were to be left behind for
this grand reunion of the old Queen's crowd.
Otoyo Sen, now Mrs. Matsuki, whose exceedingly regretfully but honorable
husband was gone on short journey and baby Cho-Cho-San must stay with
humble mother for the wedding. As Molly had expected to have the child,
this was as it should be.
Katherine had demanded leave from the lectures she was delivering, and
Edith had an excellent nurse for her baby and could leave her family
easily. Margaret Wakefield had no children and was able to cancel the
many engagements that such an important person was sure to have, and her
house was in such good running order that her husband, the rising young
congressman, would want for nothing in her absence. Jessie Lynch had
declined two luncheons, a dinner dance, and a theatre party, besides
breaking as many more engagements in order to come to this wedding of
the old college friend. Jessie was still unmarried although she had been
the one that the prophecy had married off first. Pretty little Jessie
had so many lovers it was hard to choose among them.
The very first reply was from Judy and she, Judy-like, answered in
person. She blew in at nightfall with a huge suitcase, many parcels and
her gay chintz knitting bag stuffed full of various things besides
knitting.
"Kent was dying to come but I told him no children and dogs were
allowed," announced that glowing young matron as she dropped her
belongings, scattering them all over the library floor, and rushed
around kissing and hugging everybody in the room. "I have come to help.
I know you, Molly! You always act like triplets when there is any work
on hand, and I know you, too, Nance! Your New England conscience will
make you neglect Andy rather than seem to shirk work. I am here to sweep
and dust and cook, take care of babies, or even to flirt with Andy if
Nance does not look after him. I am going to dress the bride; find
Edwin's collar buttons and studs for his dress shirt; see that the best
man has the ring safe in his pocket; pay the preacher; put in the supply
of rice and old shoes--in fact," she sang:
"'Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig.'"
The Greens had been sitting quite sedately around the lamp engaged in
their various occupations when Judy burst in on them. The professor was
getting up a lecture for the morrow, Mildred was cutting out paper
dolls, and Molly and Nance had for the moment put down their eternal
knitting and were giving their attention to whipping on lace for the
modest trousseau. But the whirlwind that came in swept aside all sane
business. Needles were hastily thrust in cloth; thimbles were mislaid;
paper dolls dropped for something livelier; and lecture preparation
abandoned. When Judy, after the breathless announcement of having come
and her reasons for coming, began on the Nancy Bell, Edwin sprang to his
feet and, joining in the dance that Judy was improvising, sang in a
rollicking mixture of tenor and baritone:
"'And he shook his fist and tore his hair,
Till I really felt afraid,
For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,
And so I simply said:
"'Oh, elderly man, it's little I know
Of the duties of men of the sea,
And I'll eat my hand if I understand
However you can be
"'At once a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig.'"
Little Mildred clapped her hands to see her dignified father cutting
pigeon wings. She had yet to learn that dignity and Mrs. Kent Brown
could not stay in the same room.
"Oh, Judy! It is good to see you," gasped Molly when the chorus, in
which all of them joined, had been sung over twice. "What a Judy you
are, anyhow!"
"Let me take your suitcase up-stairs," suggested Edwin.
"And I will carry your parcels," insisted Nance, who was happy indeed
over seeing her old college friend again.
"There is not a bit of use in taking a thing up-stairs. All of my
clothes are in the knitting bag. Those parcels are wedding presents and
the suitcase is full of all kinds of plunder. This big bundle is a tea
basket from Kent and me. You and Andy can go to housekeeping in it. We
thought you would rather have it than silver or cut glass, since you are
going where there are no side boards to speak of."
"Oh, Judy, how splendid! It is exactly what I have been longing for,"
cried Nance, opening the charming Japanese basket. "Only look, plates,
cups and saucers, tea pot, coffee pot, sugar bowl, cream pitcher,
spoons, knives, forks, cannisters for coffee, tea, sugar, crackers, hard
alcohol stove, chafing dish and tea kettle! All packed in two square
feet of basket!"
"A regular kitchen cabinet!" declared Molly. "Nobody but Nance could
ever get them packed again in the right place, I am sure, Nance and
Otoyo, perhaps."
"I just know Otoyo is going to bring her one like mine! I never thought
of that when I got it. I saw it at Vantine's and simply fell in love
with it. I wanted it so bad myself I got it for Nance. If Otoyo does
bring one, I will exchange mine," said Judy generously.
"Indeed no! I wouldn't mind having two one bit and I am certainly not
going to give up my very first wedding present," blushed Nance.
"Here is a steamer rug from dear old Mary Stuart. See how warm and soft
it is! This is a pocket set of Shakespeare from Jimmy Lufton! He brought
it to the train!"
"But how lovely! I didn't dream of getting any presents," said Nance.
"How did they know about Nance?" asked Molly.
"I 'phoned them! I got your letter while Kent was at the armory so I
just called up everybody I knew and told them the news. There is no
telling what the excess calls will amount to, but I had either to do
that or burst! 'Phoning is cheaper than bursting.
"Now I bet you can't guess what is in this great round box," said the
effervescent Judy.
"Your wedding hat!" solemnly suggested Edwin.
"Hat your grandmother! Guess again!"
"A German bomb!"
"No! Cold, cold! You'll never get it! It is a wedding cake sent by
Madeline Petit and Judith Blount. Now what do you think of that?"
"Wonderful!" cried Molly, as she lifted the cake from its careful
packing. "Fruit cake with white icing! How on earth did they happen to
do it?"
"You see I 'phoned them, too, because I always did like little Madeline
in spite of the fact that she talks a fellow's ear off. I am not so fond
of Judith, but I do admire her. She has spunked up so splendidly and
taken her medicine like a man. She and Madeline are doing a thriving
business in a swell part of town with tea rooms and all kinds of fancy
cakes. Judith was the one who suggested sending the cake, Madeline told
me. She said Judith said she knew Molly Brown would work herself to
death over the wedding and she, for one, was going to send something to
help out Molly. She said you were just goose enough to make the cake at
home."
"I had planned to do it," laughed Molly. "I was going to start
to-morrow."
"This huge box is candy to eat right now--that is Kent! I am almost
afraid to eat it. He wanted to come so bad that he might have poisoned
it for spite."
"Why didn't you let him come? Dear old Kent!" exclaimed Molly.
"Well, I knew perfectly well that it is some job to sleep seven persons
outside of one's own household, and it is doubly difficult when there
are two sexes. Kent is as busy as can be anyhow: drilling day and
night."
Kent Brown had taken the training at Plattsburg and was then engaged in
passing on this training to a company of militia in New York. He and
Judy were eagerly awaiting the declaration of war by the United States.
There was no such thing as neutrality for them. Having been in France in
that August of 1914, Judy considered herself already at war and Kent
enthusiastically shared the sentiments of his wife. He was prepared to
leave his profession of architecture, in which he was proving himself
very successful, and join any regiment that was likely to see service.
Judy had done exactly what the Marquis d'Ochte had asked her to do: she
had come back to New York and plunged into war relief work. Because of
her enthusiasm and untiring energy she had been of great assistance in
recruiting workers. Her admiring husband said that she was what one
might call a real booster. Any campaign Judy plunged in was sure to be a
whirlwind campaign. She had her father's capacity for infinite work. Up
to a certain period it had evinced itself in the form of infinite play,
but now that the serious side of life had presented itself to her, the
girl was working quite as hard as she had ever played. There was never
anything half-way about our Judy. In New York she was canvassing for
suffrage, keeping up her painting, and with her own hands cutting and
folding enough surgical dressings to fill the peace ship, besides
rounding up many workers for the cause. With it all she managed to be a
very satisfactory wife and housekeeper. She and Kent were blissfully
happy. There were red letter days in their calendar when both of them
stopped working and went on some mad frolic. They had made many friends
in New York, friends with whom they both worked and played. They had a
hospitable apartment where the redoubtable Ca'line reigned in the tiny
kitchen, Ca'line, trained by Mrs. Brown at Chatsworth and chastened by
dear old Aunt Mary until she "knowed her place an' kep' it."
Isn't it fun to see Judy again? I hope my readers feel as glad for her
to come bounding into these pages as the Greens and Nance Oldham did
when she opened the door of the library at the Square Deal and,
upsetting everything, scattered papers and parcels hither and yon, her
vivid personality permeating every corner of the room.
Just before Judy said good-night, she paused and exclaimed, "I must tell
you, Molly, how much I enjoy the dear little Virginia girls you have
passed on to me. The Tucker twins and Page Allison are just about the
nicest girls I know, and Mary Flannagan is a duck. I used to be an awful
snob about college girls,--somehow, I thought girls who did not go to
college were not worth knowing, but I have changed my mind since I have
met these girls. They are an interesting lot and as far as I can see
know as much as we do."
"I knew you would like them. I simply fell in love with them last spring
in Charleston. Have you met their father?"
"No, but he must be some father! The girls call him Zebedee, which
appeals to me, having always called mine Bobby."
"Zebedee? What a strange name!" said Nance.
"They say it is because nobody ever believes he is their father and so
they want to know: 'Who is the father of Zebedee's children?' It seems
he is only about twenty years older than they are and is one of those
persons who never gets on in years. They declare they are really more
mature than he is and not nearly so agile," laughed Judy.
"I have been meaning to ask them to Wellington and must certainly do it
before they go back to Richmond," declared Molly, on hospitality bent as
usual.
"All right, honey, but let's get Nance safely married and the wedding
feast disposed of," insisted Judy, who thought her brother-in-law looked
a little alarmed, fearing that Molly might decide that this was as good
a time as any to have the Tuckers and Page Allison visit them.
"Of course! I didn't mean now but later on, although it is a pity to put
it off too long," teased Molly, seeing the worried look on Edwin's face.
"I might make up two bunks on the pantry shelves and let one of them
sleep in the bath tub."