BY the time school was dismissed and the extra class called upon to
recite, Betty’s feelings were so wrought up that she felt like throwing
her books on the floor and screaming. She couldn’t bear to look at
Rose. She couldn’t endure thinking what their presence here--their
absence from Dr. Vandegrift’s office--signified. And yet she could
think of nothing else.
She wasn’t prepared with the lesson. After she had failed twice,
Meadowcroft asked if she hadn’t studied it.
“A little,” she said.
“A little--what does that mean?”
“On the train last night,” she said. She didn’t explain that even that
little preparation had been perfunctory. For in her heart she had
believed that she wouldn’t be present at the recitation. She would be
at Millville or on the way back.
Meadowcroft looked at her despairingly.
“And you have had nearly two hours just now,” he declared. “You have
had nothing since ten minutes before two. Do you mean to tell me you
wasted all that time?”
Chatter about wasting time meant little to Betty’s broken heart.
“I wasn’t studying,” she replied with quiet dignity.
Even Tommy was surprised that Meadowcroft, with no inkling of
understanding, kept his patience in the face of what must have looked
like extreme stubbornness. He merely warned her that it mustn’t happen
again. Thereafter he would expect her to be prepared without exception
for every lesson. And he would hear her recite this at noon to-morrow.
That night as Meadowcroft sat alone, depressed and disheartened, his
sister came flying in with something to communicate which her manner
announced to be startling and amusing. He didn’t care to see her at
that moment. He felt too sore to strive to detect anything amusing in
what she should offer. He was so grieved and discouraged with regard
to Betty Pogany that he wished to be left alone, even though he had
given up getting any light upon the matter. And yet, it seemed wrong to
give up. Quite apart from his particular affection for Betty, Humphrey
Meadowcroft felt that he must have been shocked and pained to see such
a change in any young girl as had come over her. It was appalling to
see any girl growing more unruly and stubborn from day to day and to be
powerless to arrest the process.
Perhaps he wouldn’t have felt so much at sea if Betty had been a boy.
In that case, however, the situation wouldn’t be the same. Tommy
Finnemore, less guilty,--not guilty at all, perchance,--took his
punishment blithely and was his own genial, happy, whimsical self
the while; but the girl resented receiving less than her desert and
haughtily demanded to be left free to choose her own course of action.
What could lie at the bottom of it? If only he could get some inkling!
Isabel Phillips appearing at that instant, her brother held the
question in abeyance there. But the expression on his face indicated
the same thing as if she had come upon him reading, and he had closed
the book with his thumb marking the place so that he could open it the
moment he should be free.
“Humphrey, what do you think they have got around about Bouncing Bet?”
she asked facetiously.
He started. He didn’t like to hear his sister’s gossip in regard to the
school children; and he disliked to hear her speak thus of Betty, who
wasn’t now, to say truth, any more _bouncing_ than Isabel herself. Yet
he looked at her in sharp inquiry. He almost wondered if he had thought
aloud and she had heard his exclamation.
“They say that she has been running away from school once a week all
winter to visit a beauty specialist for treatment to reduce her flesh!”
she declared eagerly.
“Nonsense!” he exclaimed. But he winced secretly.
“No nonsense about it,” she retorted. “It’s plain fact.”
“But the girl doesn’t need it, Isabel,” he protested.
“Certainly not now. But she thought she did at the start. She has lost
pounds and pounds and pounds. I got a good look at her myself to-day
and I was struck dumb, honestly, Humphrey. She had the courage of her
convictions, and yet--the silly little gump really looks shockingly now
and I should think Pa Pogany would come down upon her. I wonder you
haven’t noticed how white and thin she is!”
He had, indeed, noticed it. And he was shocked to recollect that he had
noticed more than once that she hadn’t eaten her luncheon. Isabel’s
story truly carried conviction. Greatly distressed, Meadowcroft puzzled
over the matter far into the night. He hated terribly to credit such an
explanation of Betty’s strange conduct, but it accounted for the girl’s
behavior as nothing else could. To him, it seemed worse than silly.
It seemed monstrous to his mind. And selfish--to think that she should
have dragged Tommy and the innocent Rose into the net! He never would
have believed it of Betty! And yet, every circumstance, every detail
fitted into that theory and he was forced to accept it as fact.
As Betty had cried herself to sleep after hours of agony the night
before, she looked worse than ever when Meadowcroft saw her at school
Thursday morning. Mistaken, naughty, vain, headstrong as the girl
was, his heart went out to her. He was terribly sorry for her, and he
began to be less shocked. After suffering all her life because of her
size, she had suddenly taken things into her own hands and resolved
upon a change. He had himself given her the idea; and after all,
she was only thirteen. She had felt that she had a right to secure
what she felt to be a boon at almost any cost. Doubtless she had had
to maintain absolute secrecy because of her Aunt Sarah; and in any
event he could scarcely have expected her to confide in him in this
instance. She would realize that he wouldn’t have countenanced any such
thing. She had accepted his efforts to preserve order in the school as
persecution, and her stubbornness doubtless seemed to herself righteous
indignation.
He longed to speak some word of comfort to the child, but he had no
opportunity. He longed also to protest against her mad course of
action, but he didn’t feel that he could, for he had no definite
information. But he wondered why someone else didn’t speak to her,
didn’t warn her that she was going too far. What did the girl want,
anyhow? Did she wish to become a skeleton?
A week passed. Meadowcroft saw that Betty continued the process
of starvation. She scarcely tasted her luncheon. But she ceased to
struggle. Apparently resigned to the inevitable, she kept up with
her lessons and helped Rose as ever with hers. On the Wednesday, the
day of her weekly visit to the mysterious beauty specialist, she
was noticeably restless--poor, silly child, she was, indeed, almost
tragically so. And on the second Thursday she looked really ill.
Meadowcroft was extremely concerned, but he hardly knew how to approach
her. She was uniformly and frigidly polite towards him, but manifestly
she wished to have nothing to say to him beyond what was absolutely
necessary.
He began to feel more kindly towards Rose than he had ever done. Though
he had been moved to admiration by her dramatic appeal to Betty’s
father in the late summer, he had forgotten it in the course of the
year, and had unconsciously cherished almost a grudge against the
girl because she had so monopolized Betty and had seemed to take her
devotion for granted. Now he felt that Rose had redeemed herself rather
handsomely. He understood the girl sufficiently to be aware that the
audacity of the course Betty had taken would appeal strongly to her;
but she had gone on sharing the peril when it had gone beyond mere
risk; she had shared the blame and the punishment without a word. She
was, in a word, as loyal as Tommy himself to their erring friend.
The days passed rather drearily. The last Wednesday of the term, which
found Meadowcroft seriously depressed, found Betty Pogany utterly
forlorn. Again, as on the preceding days when the train had gone to
Millville without them, wild thoughts of flight came to the girl, only
to be wearily dismissed. It was too late now, anyhow. Having missed two
weeks, the third meant nothing--nor the twenty-third. Everything was
lost! There was nothing to do but to wait for the first Wednesday in
the Easter vacation, go to Dr. Vandegrift to explain the situation and
pay him the nine--or would it be twelve?--dollars that would be his due.
But even that would be difficult--getting the money together. Obliged
as they had been to ride home every night for the three weeks, with
a few stormy mornings additional, she and Rose had saved only two
dollars. And of Tommy’s gift of five dollars but three remained.
Moreover, Tommy’s father, since his punishment at school, had ceased
to allow him the money he saved on railroad fares, so he was unable to
contribute further. After much hesitation and anxiety, Betty finally
decided, on that Wednesday, to appeal to her father. She would beg him
for a loan which she would return on her birthday in July.
She was spared the necessity of so doing. Pogany, who was a very busy
man and spent most of his evenings at the shop, was the last to notice
how badly his daughter was looking. But when, shortly before the day
when Betty determined to speak to him, he was suddenly struck by the
change in her, he was startled and deeply concerned.
He knew that Betty was being kept after school every night as a
punishment, but had no idea what her fault had been. His sister had
come to him when Betty had refused to explain to her and asked him to
compel her to do so, reminding him that when they were children and had
been punished at school, they had been punished again at home. But
he had bidden Sarah leave the girl alone. He hadn’t felt like being
stern with the child. Betty was a good girl. Over and over during
this first year of her going to school at Paulding, he had himself
been impressed by her sweetness and goodness; and his old friend Bob
Harrow had come to him more than once with tears in his eyes to dwell
upon her wonderful kindness to his little, afflicted Rosy. Her Aunt
Sarah, he had realized, had always been hard on Betty, and he feared
he had rather backed her up in it. But he hadn’t done it of late, and
certainly he wouldn’t now. He hardly knew what he ought to do. Had the
girl’s mother lived, she would have known--though quite likely had Bess
been alive it would never have happened.
It hurt him to see how the girl grieved over her punishment, and on the
night when she was hanging about to get a chance to ask him for the
money, he spoke to her. They had finished tea, and Miss Pogany went
into the pantry to mix bread.
“Betty, my child,” he said with awkward kindness, “I am afraid you
are taking your medicine pretty hard. Now see here, don’t you mind it
any more. Whatever you did is over and done with and can’t be helped.
I shouldn’t wonder at all if Mr. Meadowcroft had been a mite too
particular and severe. He’s a fine man and we’re all proud to have him
in our midst and hope he will remain; but I don’t suppose he knows much
about boys and girls. And then, people that have always been rich and
used to being waited on can hardly help being rather high and mighty
and overbearing. But the term is almost over now, and Mr. Appleton will
be back and everything will be merry again. And I want my little girl
to be merry. I want you to cheer up right away. I’m going to give you
five dollars to get you something gay and pretty. You can go over to
Paulding to spend it any day you like in your holidays and meanwhile
you can be planning what you’ll buy.”
Betty tried to speak. Then she went to her father, dropped her head on
his shoulder, and wept silently.
“There, there, cry if you like, child,” he murmured, drawing her to his
knee and stroking her hair gently with his big bony hand. “Cry it out
and then put your mind on the pretty thing you can buy with your money.”
“By the way, George,” Miss Pogany began before she reached the dining
room. And Betty, slipping down, fled precipitately. But her father
followed her to the stair, tucked a five-dollar note into her hand,
squeezed it, and returned to his sister.