MY DEAR MR. COURTLAND:
The very first line translated Courtland into another world from the one
in which he had been living during the past three days. Its perfumed
breath struck harshly on his soul.
I am writing to report on the case of the poor girl whom you
asked me to help. I was very anxious to please you and did
my best; but you remember that I warned you that persons of
that sort were likely to be most difficult and
ungrateful--indeed, quite impossible sometimes. And so,
perhaps, you will be somewhat prepared for the disappointing
report I have to give.
I went to the hospital this afternoon, putting off several
engagements to do so. I was quite surprised to find the girl
in a private room, but of course your kindness made that
possible for her, which makes her utter ingratitude all the
more unpardonable.
I took with me several very pretty frocks of my own, quite
good, some of them scarcely worn at all, for I know girls of
that sort care more for clothes than anything else. But I
found her quite sullen and disagreeable. She wouldn't look
at the things I had brought, although I suggested several
ways in which I intended to help her and make it possible
for her to have a few friends of her own class who would
make her forget her troubles. She just lay and stared at me
and said, quite impertinently, that she didn't remember ever
having met me. And when I mentioned your name she denied
ever having seen you. She even dared to ask me to leave the
room. And the nurse was most insulting.
But don't worry about it in the least, for papa has promised
to have the nurse removed at once from her position, and
blacklisted, so that she can't ever get another place in a
decent hospital.
I am afraid you will be disappointed in your protegée, and I
am awfully sorry, for I would have enjoyed doing her good;
but you see how impossible it was.
You are not to feel put out that I was treated that way, for
I really enjoyed doing something for you; and you know it is
good for one to suffer sometimes. I'll be delighted to go
slumming for you any time again that you say, and please
don't mind asking me. It's much better for me to look after
any girls that need help than it is for you, because girls
of that sort are so likely to impose upon a young man's
sympathies.
My cousin has been telling me how you have been looking
after some of the work of a student who is majoring in
sociology, so I'm beginning to understand why you took this
girl up. I do hope you'll let me help. Suppose you run over
this evening and we can talk it over. I'm giving up two
whole engagements to stay at home for you, so I hope you
will properly appreciate it, and if anything hinders your
coming, would you mind calling up and letting me know?
Hoping to see you this evening,
Your true friend and fellow-worker,
GILA DARE.
The letter struck a false note in the harmony of the day. It annoyed
Courtland beyond expression that he had made such a blunder as to send
Gila after Bonnie. He could not understand why Gila had not had better
discernment than to think Bonnie an object of charity. His indignation
was still burning over the trouble and peril her action had brought to
Bonnie. Yet he hated to have his opinion of Gila shaken. He had arranged
it in his mind that she was a sweet and lovely girl, one in every way
similar to Solveig the innocent, and he did not care to change it. He
tried to remember Gila's conventional upbringing, and realize that she
had no conception of a girl out of her own social circle other than as a
menial to whom to condescend. The vision of her loveliness in rose and
silver, with her prayer-book "in her 'kerchief" was still dimly forcing
him to be at least polite and accept her letter of apology for her
failure, as he could but suppose it was sincerely meant.
Then all at once a new fact dawned upon him. The invitation had been for
Saturday evening! This was Sunday evening! And now what was he to do? He
might call her up and apologize, but what could he say. Bill Ward might
have told her by this time that he knew the letter had been received. A
blunt confession that he had forgotten to read it might offend, yet what
else could he do? It was most annoying!
He went to the telephone as soon as he reached the college. The fellows
had already gone down to the evening meal. He could hear the clink of
china and silver in the distant dining-room. It was a good time to
'phone.
A moment, and Gila's cool contralto answered: "_Hel_-lo-_oo_!" There was
something about the way that Gila said that word that conveyed a whole
lot of things, instantly putting the caller at his distance, but placing
the lady on a pedestal before which it became most desirable to bow.
"This is Paul Courtland!"
"Oh! Mr. Courtland!" Her voice was freezing.
But Courtland was not used to being frozen out. "I owe you an apology,
Miss Dare," he said, with dignity. He didn't care how blunt he sounded
now. It always angered him to be frozen! "Your letter reached me just
as I was leaving here last evening on a very important errand. I put it
in my pocket, but I have been so occupied that it escaped my mind
utterly until just now. I hope I did not cause you much inconvenience."
"Oh, it really didn't _mattah_ in the _least_!" answered Gila,
indifferently. Nothing could be colder or more distant than her voice,
and yet there was something in it this time, a subtle lure, that
exasperated. A teasing little something at his spirit demanded to be set
right in her eyes--to have her the suppliant rather than himself.
"I really am awfully ashamed," he said, in quite a boyish, humble tone,
and then gasped at himself. What was there about Gila that always "got a
fellow's goat"?
After that Gila had the conversation quite where she wanted it, and
finally she told him sweetly that he might come over this evening if he
chose. She had other engagements, but she would break them all for him.
"Suppose you go to church with me this evening," he temporized. "I've
found a minister I'd like to have you hear. He's quite original!"
There was a distinct pause at the other end of the 'phone, while Gila's
little white teeth came cruelly into her red under lip, and her pearly
forehead drew the straight, black, penciled brows naughtily. Then she
answered, in sweetly honeyed tones:
"Why, that would be lovely! Perhaps I will. What time do we start?"
Something in her tone annoyed him, despite his satisfaction at having
induced her to be friends again. Almost it sounded like a false note in
the day again. He hadn't expected her to go. Now she was going, he was
very sure he didn't want her.
"I warn you that it is among very common people in the lower part of the
city," he said, almost severely.
"Oh, that's all right!" she declared, graciously. "I'm sure it will be
dandy! I certainly do enjoy new experiences!"
He hung up the 'phone with far greater misgivings than he had felt when
he asked her to call on Bonnie.
Bill Ward was called out of the dining-room to the telephone almost as
soon as Courtland got down to the table.
It was Gila on the phone: "Is that you Bill? Well, Bill, this is Gila.
Say, what in the name of peace have you let me in for now? I hope to
goodness mamma won't find it out. She'd have a pink fit! Say! is this a
joke, or what? I believe you're putting one over on me!"
"Search me, Gila! I'm all in the dark! Give me a line on it and I'll
tell you."
"Well, what do you think that crazy nut has pulled off now? Wants me to
go to church with him! Of all things! And down in some queer slum place,
too! If I get into a scrape you'll have to promise to help me out, or
mamma'll never let me free from a chaperon again. And I had to make
Artley Guelpin, and Turner Bailey sore, too, by telling them I was sick
and they couldn't come and try over those new dance-steps to-night as
I'd promised. If I get into the papers or anything I'll have a long
score to settle with you."
"Oh, cut that out, Gila! You'll not get into any scrape with Court. He's
all right. He's only nuts about religion just now, and seems to be set
on sampling all kinds of churches. Say! that's a good one, though, for
you to go to church with him! I must tell the fellows. Keep it up,
Guile, old girl! You'll pull the fat out of the fire yet. You're just
the one to go along and counteract the pious line. You should worry
about Artley Guelpin and Turner Bailey! You can't keep either of them
sore; they haven't got back bone enough to stay so. If it's the same
dump Court took Tennelly to this morning you'll get your money's worth,
all right. Nelly said it was a scream."
Bill Ward came back, grinning from ear to ear. Every few minutes during
the rest of the meal he broke out in a broad grin and looked at
Courtland, who was absorbed in his own thoughts; and then he would slap
Tennelly on the shoulder and say: "Ho! boy! It's a rare one!" But it was
not until Courtland had hurried away after his lady that Bill gave forth
his information.
"Oh, Nelly!" he burst forth. "Court's going to take Gila to church! You
don't suppose he'll take her to that dump where he led you this morning,
do you? I can see her nose go up now. I thought I'd croak when she told
me! Wait till you hear her call me up on the 'phone when she gets home!
She'll give me the worst balling out I ever had! And Aunt Nina would
have apoplexy if she knew her 'darlin' pet' was going into that part of
town! Oh, boy! Set me on my feet or I'll die laughing!"
Tennelly regarded Bill Ward with solemn consternation. "Do you mean to
tell me that Court has asked your cousin to go to that camp-meeting hole
where he took me this morning? Cut out the kidding and tell me straight!
Well, then, Bill, it's serious, and we've got to do something! We can't
have a fellow like Court spoiled for life. He's gone stale, that's
what's the matter; he's gone stale! He's got to have strenuous measures
to pull him up."
"He sure has!" said Bill Ward, soberly, getting up from the couch where
he had been rolling in his mirth. "What can we do? What about these
business ambitions of his? Couldn't we work him that way? For Court's
got a great head on him, you know! I thought Gila would do the business,
but if he's rung in religion on her it's all up, I'm afraid. But
business is a different thing. Not even Court could mix business and
religion, for they won't fit together!"
"That's the trouble," said Tennelly, thoughtfully. "If it gets out
what's the matter with Court he won't stand half a chance. I was
thinking of my uncle Ramsey, out in Chicago. He has large financial
interests in the West; he often wants promising men to take charge of
some big thing, and it means a dandy opening; big money and no end of
social and political pull to get into one of his berths. He's promised
me one when I'm done college, and I was going to talk to him about
Court. He's twice the man I am and just what Uncle Ramsey wants. He's
coming on East next week, and likely to stop over. I might see what I
can do."
"That's just the thing, Nelly. Go to it, old man! Write unc. a letter
to-night. Nothing like giving a lot of dope beforehand."
"That's an idea! I will!" and Tennelly went to his desk and began to
write.
Meantime Gila awaited Courtland's coming, attired in a most startling
costume of blue velvet and ermine, with high laced white kid boots, and
a hat that resembled a fresh, white setting-hen, tied down to her pert
little face with a veil whose large-meshed surface was broken by a
single design, a large black butterfly anchored just across her dainty
little nose. A most astonishing costume in which to appear in the Rev.
John Burns's unpretentious little church crowded with the canaille of
the city!
It was the first time that Courtland had ever felt that Gila was a
little loud in her dress!