Clara Leeds sat by the open window of her sitting-room with her fancy
work. Her hair was done up in an irreproachable style, and her
finger-nails were carefully manicured and pink like little shells. She
had a slender waist, and looked down at it from time to time with
satisfied eyes. At the back of her collar was a little burst of chiffon;
for chiffon so arranged was the fashion. She cast idle glances at the
prospect from the window. It was not an alluring one--a row of brick
houses with an annoying irregularity of open and closed shutters.
There was the quiet rumble of a carriage in the street, and Clara Leeds
leaned forward, her eyes following the vehicle until to look further
would have necessitated leaning out of the window. There were two women
in the carriage, both young and soberly dressed. To certain eyes they
might have appeared out of place in a carriage, and yet, somehow, it was
obvious that it was their own. Clara Leeds resumed her work, making
quick, jerky stitches.
"Clara Leeds," she murmured, as if irritated. She frowned and then
sighed. "If only--if only it was something else; if it only had two
syllables...." She put aside her work and went and stood before the
mirror of her dresser. She looked long at her face. It was fresh and
pretty, and her blue eyes, in spite of their unhappy look, were clear
and shining. She fingered a strand of hair, and then cast critical
sidelong glances at her profile. She smoothed her waist-line with a
movement peculiar to women. Then she tilted the glass and regarded the
reflection from head to foot.
"Oh, what is it?" she demanded, distressed, of herself in the glass. She
took up her work again.
"They don't seem to care how they look and ... they do wear shabby
gloves and shoes." So her thoughts ran. "But they are the Rockwoods and
they don't have to care. It must be so easy for them; they only have to
visit the Day Nursery, and the Home for Incurables, and some old, poor,
sick people. They never have to meet them and ask them to dinner. They
just say a few words and leave some money or things in a nice way, and
they can go home and do what they please." Clara Leeds's eyes rested
unseeingly on the house opposite. "It must be nice to have a rector ...
he is such an intellectual-looking man, so quiet and dignified; just the
way a minister should be, instead of like Mr. Copple, who tries to be
jolly and get up sociables and parlor meetings." There were tears in the
girl's eyes.
A tea-bell rang, and Clara went down-stairs to eat dinner with her
father. He had just come in and was putting on a short linen coat.
Clara's mother was dead. She was the only child at home, and kept house
for her father.
"I suppose you are all ready for the lawn-tennis match this afternoon?"
said Mr. Leeds to his daughter. "Mr. Copple said you were going to play
with him. My! that young man is up to date. Think of a preacher getting
up a lawn-tennis club! Why, when I was a young man that would have
shocked people out of their boots. But it's broad-minded, it's
broad-minded," with a wave of the hand. "I like to see a man with ideas,
and if lawn-tennis will help to keep our boys out of sin's pathway,
why, then, lawn-tennis is a strong, worthy means of doing the Lord's
work."
"Yes," said Clara. "Did Mr. Copple say he would call for me? It isn't
necessary."
"Oh yes, yes," said her father; "he said to tell you he would be around
here at two o'clock. I guess I'll have to go over myself and see part of
the athletics. We older folks ain't quite up to taking a hand in the
game, but we can give Copple our support by looking in on you and
cheering on the good work."
After dinner Mr. Leeds changed the linen coat for a cutaway and started
back to his business. Clara went up-stairs and put on a short skirt and
tennis shoes. She again surveyed herself in the mirror. The skirt
certainly hung just like the model. She sighed and got out her
tennis-racquet. Then she sat down and read in a book of poems that she
was very fond of.
At two o'clock the bell jangled, and Clara opened the door for Mr.
Copple herself. The clergyman was of slight build, and had let the hair
in front of his ears grow down a little way on his cheeks. He wore a
blue yachting-cap, and white duck trousers which were rolled up and
displayed a good deal of red and black sock. For a moment Clara imaged a
clear-cut face with grave eyes above a length of clerical waistcoat, on
which gleamed a tiny gold cross suspended from a black cord.
"I guess we might as well go over," she said. "I'm all ready."
The clergyman insisted on carrying Clara's racquet. "You are looking
very well," he said, somewhat timidly, but with admiring eyes. "But
perhaps you don't feel as much like playing as you look."
"Oh yes, I do indeed," replied Clara, inwardly resenting the solicitude
in his tone.
They set out, and the clergyman appeared to shake his mind free of a
preoccupation.
"I hope all the boys will be around," he said, with something of
anxiety. "They need the exercise. All young, active fellows ought to
have it. I spoke to Mr. Goodloe and Mr. Sharp and urged them to let Tom
and Fred Martin off this afternoon. I think they will do it. Ralph
Carpenter, I'm afraid, can't get away from the freight-office, but I am
in hopes that Mr. Stiggins can take his place. Did you know that Mrs.
Thompson has promised to donate some lemonade?"
"That's very nice," said Clara. "It's a lovely day for the match." She
was thinking, "What short steps he takes!"
After some silent walking the clergyman said: "I don't believe you know,
Miss Leeds, how much I appreciate your taking part in these tennis
matches. Somehow I feel that it is asking a great deal of you, for I
know that you have--er--so many interests of your own--that is, you are
different in many ways from most of our people. I want you to know that
I am grateful for the influence--your cooperation, you know--"
"Please, Mr. Copple, don't mention it," said Clara, hurriedly. "I
haven't so many interests as you imagine, and I am not any different
from the rest of the people. Not at all." If there was any hardness in
the girl's tone the clergyman did not appear to notice it. They had
reached their destination.
The tennis-court was on the main street just beyond the end of the
business section. It was laid out on a vacant lot between two brick
houses. A wooden sign to one side of the court announced, "First ----
Church Tennis Club." When Clara and Mr. Copple arrived at the court
there were a number of young people gathered in the lot. Most of them
had tennis-racquets, those of the girls being decorated with bows of
yellow, black, and lavender ribbon. Mr. Copple shook hands with
everybody, and ran over the court several times, testing the consistency
of the earth.
"Everything is capital!" he cried.
Clara Leeds bowed to the others, shaking hands with only one or two.
They appeared to be afraid of her. The finals in the men's singles were
between Mr. Copple and Elbert Dunklethorn, who was called "Ellie." He
wore a very high collar, and as his shoes had heels, he ran about the
court on his toes.
Clara, watching him, recalled her father's words at dinner. "How will
this save that boy from sin's pathway?" she thought. She regarded the
clergyman; she recognized his zeal. But why, why must she be a part of
this--what was it?--this system of saving people and this kind of
people? If she could only go and be good to poor and unfortunate people
whom she wouldn't have to know. Clara glanced toward the street. "I hope
they won't come past," she said to herself.
The set in which Clara and the clergyman were partners was the most
exciting of the afternoon. The space on either side of the court was
quite filled with spectators. Some of the older people who had come with
the lengthening shadows sat on chairs brought from the kitchens of the
adjoining houses. Among them was Mr. Leeds, his face animated. Whenever
a ball went very high up or very far down the lot, he cried, "Hooray!"
Clara was at the net facing the street, when the carriage she had
observed in the morning stopped in view, and the two soberly dressed
women leaned forward to watch the play. Clara felt her face burn, and
when they cried "game," she could not remember whether the clergyman and
she had won it or lost it. She was chiefly conscious of her father's
loud "hoorays." With the end of the play the carriage was driven on.
Shortly before supper-time that evening Clara went to the drug-store to
buy some stamps. One of the Misses Rockwood was standing by the
show-case waiting for the clerk to wrap up a bottle. Clara noted the
scantily trimmed hat and the scuffed gloves. She nodded in response to
Miss Rockwood's bow. They had met but once.
"That was a glorious game of tennis you were having this afternoon,"
said Miss Rockwood, with a warm smile. "My sister and I should like to
have seen more of it. You all seemed to be having such a good time."
"_You all_--"
Clara fumbled her change. "It's--it's good exercise," she said. That
night she cried herself to sleep.