A RECKLESS CHAUFFEUR
Thanksgiving Day dawned bright and clear, with just enough frost in the
air to make one's blood tingle. It had been a mild fall, with a late
Indian summer, and only one or two snow flurries that had lasted but a
few hours. This was unusual for Oakdale, as winter generally came with a
rush before the middle of November, and treated the inhabitants of that
northern city to a taste of zero weather long before the Christmas
holidays.
It was with a light heart that Grace Harlowe ate her breakfast and
flitted about the house, putting a final touch here and there before
receiving her guests. Before eleven o'clock everything was finished, and
as she arranged the last flower in its vase she felt a little thrill of
pride as she looked about the pretty drawing room. Before going upstairs
to dress, she ran into the reception hall for the fourth time to feast
her eyes upon a huge bunch of tall chrysanthemums in the beautiful
Japanese vase that stood in the alcove under the stairs. They had come
about an hour before with a note from Tom Gray saying that he had
arrived in Oakdale that morning, had seen the boys and would be around
to help David and Reddy at the "girl convention," as he termed it.
Grace was overjoyed at the idea of seeing Tom Gray again. They had been
firm friends since her freshman year, and had entertained a wholesome,
boy-and-girl preference for each other untinged by any trace of foolish
sentimentality.
As she dressed for dinner, Grace felt perfectly happy except for one
thing. She still smarted a little at Eleanor's rude reply to her
invitation. She was one of those tender-hearted girls who disliked being
on bad terms with any one, and she really liked Eleanor still, in spite
of the fact that Eleanor did not in the least return the sentiment.
Grace sighed a little over the rebuff, and then completely forgot her
trouble as she donned the new gown that had just come from the
dressmaker. It was of Italian cloth in a beautiful shade of dark red,
made in one piece, with a yoke of red and gold net, and trimmed with
tiny enameled buttons. It fitted her straight, slender figure perfectly
and she decided that for once she had been wise in foregoing her
favorite blue and choosing red.
The party that evening was to be a strictly informal affair. Grace had
suspected that the girls whom the members of the Phi Sigma Tau were to
entertain were not likely to possess evening gowns. In order to avoid
any possibility of hurt feelings, she had quietly requested those
invited to wear the afternoon gowns in which they would appear at the
game.
Before one o'clock her guests had arrived. They were three shy, quiet
girls who had worshiped Grace from a distance, and who had been
surprised almost to tears by her invitation. Two of them were from
Portville, a small town about seventy miles from Oakdale, and had begun
High School with Grace, who had been too busy with her own affairs up to
the present to find out much about them.
The other girl, Marie Bateman, had entered the class that year. She had
come from a little village forty miles south of Oakdale, was the oldest
of a large family, her mother being a widow of very small means. As her
mother was unable to send her away to school, she had done clerical work
for the only lawyer in the home town for the previous two years,
studying between whiles. She had entered the High School in the junior
class, determining to graduate and then to work her way through Normal
School. By dint of questioning, Grace had discovered that she lived in a
shabby little room in the suburbs, never went anywhere and did anything
honest in the way of earning money that she could find to do.
The realization of what some of these girls were willing to endure for
the sake of getting an education made Grace feel guilty at being so
comfortably situated. She determined that the holidays that year should
not find them without friends and cheer.
After a rousing Thanksgiving dinner, in which the inevitable turkey,
with all its toothsome accompaniments, played a prominent part, the
girls retired to Grace's room for a final adjustment of hair and a last
survey in the mirror before going to the game. High School matters
formed the principal theme of conversation, and Grace was not surprised
to learn that Eleanor had been carrying things with a high hand in
third-year French class, in which Ellen Holt, one of the Portville
girls, recited.
"She speaks French as well as Professor La Roche," said Miss Holt, "but
she nearly drives him crazy sometimes. She will pretend she doesn't
understand him and will make him explain the construction of a sentence
over and over again, or she will argue with him about a point until he
loses his temper completely. She makes perfectly ridiculous caricatures
of him, and leaves them on his desk when class is over, and she asks him
to translate impertinent slang phrases, which he does, sometimes,
before he realizes how they are going to sound. Then the whole class
laughs at him. She certainly makes things lively in that class."
The sound of the bell cut short the chat and the four girls hurried
downstairs to greet Jessica, Mabel and the girls who were the Bright's
guests. Nora and Anne, with their charges, came next, and last of all
David, Tom and Hippy paraded up the walk, in single file, blowing
lustily on tin horns and waving blue and white banners. A brief season
of introduction followed, then Grace distributed blue and white rosettes
with long streamers that she had made for the occasion, to each member
of the party. Well supplied with Oakdale colors, they set out for the
football grounds, where an immense crowd of people had gathered to see
the big game of the season.
"I shall never forget the first football game I saw in Oakdale," said
Anne to David as they made their way to the grandstand. "It ended very
sensationally for me."
"I should say it did," replied David, smiling. "Confidentially, Anne, do
you ever hear from your father?"
"Not very often," replied Anne. "He is not liable to trouble me again,
however, because he knows that I will not go back to the stage, no
matter what he says. He was with the western company of 'True Hearts'
last year, but I don't know where he is now, and I don't care. Don't
think I'm unfeeling; but it is impossible for me to care for him, even
though he is my father."
"I understand," said David sympathetically. "Now let's forget him and
have a good time."
"Hurrah! Here comes the band!" shouted Hippy.
The "Oakdale Military Band" took their places in the improvised
bandstand and began a short concert before the game with the "Stars and
Stripes," while the spectators unconsciously kept time with their feet
to the inspiring strains.
When the two teams appeared on the field there were shouts of enthusiasm
from the friends of the players, and the band burst forth with the High
School song, in which the students joined.
After the usual preliminaries, the game began, and for the next hour
everything else was forgotten save the battle that waged between the two
teams.
Miriam Nesbit, Eva Allen and Marian Barber, with their guests, joined
Grace's party, and soon the place they occupied became the very center
of enthusiasm. Reddy, who was playing left end on the home team,
received an ovation every time he made a move, and when towards the end
of the game he made a touchdown, his friends nearly split their loyal
throats in expressing their approval.
It was over at last, and Oakdale had won a complete victory over the
Georgetown foe, who took their defeat with becoming grace. As soon as
Reddy could free himself from the grasp of his school fellows, who would
have borne him from the field in triumph if he had not stoutly resisted,
he hurried to his friends, who showered him with congratulations.
"O you Titian-haired star!" cried Hippy, clasping his hands in mock
admiration. "You are the rarest jewel in the casket. Words fail to
express my feelings.
"'O joy, O bliss, O rapture! Let happiness now hap!
I am a sea of gurgling glee, with ecstacy on tap.'"
Hippy recited this effusion in a killing falsetto voice, and endeavored
to embrace Reddy fervently, but was dragged back by Tom and David, to
Reddy's visible relief.
"He's the idol of the hour. Don't put your irreverent hands on him," was
David's injunction.
"But I adore idols," persisted Hippy. "Let me at him."
"Quit it, fat one!" growled Reddy, with a grin. "I'll settle with you
later."
With gay laughter and jest, the young folks made their way from the
grounds and started down the road toward home.
The whole party, walking four abreast, had just turned the curve where
the road ended and Main Street began, when there was a hoarse honk!
honk! and a runabout decorated in blue and white, containing Eleanor and
Edna Wright, bore down upon them at lightning speed. The girls, uttering
little cries of alarm, scattered to both sides of the road, with the
exception of Mabel Allison, who, in her hurry to get out of the way,
stumbled and fell directly in the path of the oncoming machine.