The following Thursday night Tom called at the Whitmans' to rehearse the
lecture. Nancy's cousin Bob had arranged to have two rooms reserved for
them during the Friday noon hour at the Mills, and they had agreed that
the best way to prepare for the ordeal was to study their notes and get
their material in final shape and then have a dress rehearsal on
Thursday night. "After a while," Nancy had said, "when we work into the
harness, we probably won't need to have one, but I don't think we can be
too careful of this first lecture." This had been precisely Tom's
opinion also.
Tom had never seen Henry so amiable. In fact he seemed hard put to it to
keep from unrestrained merriment, and Tom, who found the affair more
alarming as it progressed, would have preferred avoiding him altogether.
He knew that Henry was calling him callow, a lightweight, charges
well-nigh proved by his present undertaking, and to save himself from
rout he had to remember that Henry was a heavy Grave man and that his
own participation was only a question of common courtesy to a lady,
anyway. Nancy had set her heart upon the thing, and he would be a very
indifferent friend to stand idly by and not lift a finger to help.
"I believe," said Henry, "that we are to sit in the drawing-room. Nancy
will stand in the far end of the library."
"I see," replied Tom vaguely.
"She feels that having the conditions rather trying tonight will help
her tomorrow. Accordingly, she's going to speak first, and she wants me
to excuse her for not being here when you arrived. By coming in formally
and beginning her address without speaking to us, she hopes to get some
of the feeling of the way it will be tomorrow." And with a somewhat
hysterical noise he went to the stairway. "All right, Nancy."
In a minute Nancy appeared on the stairs and, walking stiffly across
into the library, she climbed upon a footstool at the far end. In front
of her was an old violin stand. Upon it she put her notes. She then
raised her face; and even at the distance it appeared flushed.
"Fellow workers," she began.
At this point Henry broke into uncontrollable laughter. "Excuse me,
really, but it is too much. 'Fellow workers'--oh, dear me. Oh, oh, I am
afraid I can't stand it. You must excuse me, really. Oh, dear me," and
rising weakly, handkerchief in hand, he tottered from the room.
Nancy, the picture of resigned despair, gazed at Tom. He felt slightly
hysterical himself.
"What are we to do?" she asked helplessly. As they were nearly fifty
feet apart, the pitch of her voice was necessarily above that used in
ordinary conversation and gave to her words considerable melodramatic
force. A fresh shout of laughter descending from the stairs made the
situation none the easier.
Nancy was, indeed, thoroughly upset. What was to become of her
independent life if this failed? How else could she express herself? Was
it to collapse at the very start, before she could even approach her
dreams for the future? To have it end ridiculously, to have her become a
laughing stock, would be too cruel. No, she would fight for her liberty.
"Why, the thing to do is to go on," replied Tom. Had those words been
said at Marengo or Poitiers or Persepolis, they might today be learned
by school children. They were of the stuff that wins lost causes. They
stem defeat as effectively as fresh battalions.
"Fellow workers," Nancy began again, and this time there was only
respectful silence, "I have come to you today to tell you a little
something about the machines which are forever your property, which were
given to you by your Maker and which it is your sacred duty to keep in
as good condition as possible. I mean your own bodies." She paused, and
Tom nodded encouragement from the other room. "It has become my pleasant
duty to come to you and tell you how you may keep these God-given
machines. You are to regard me, in other words, as your friend and
sister." The lecturer was here threatened by a dry, pippy, cough and
the whole course was imperilled. However, she drove fiercely on.
"At the outset you should have a brief working knowledge of such things
as your heart and lungs, your pancreas, liver, big and little intestines
and their juices; and I shall, accordingly, give you a brief idea of the
various systems, beginning today with the circulatory and respiratory.
Next time I shall hope to cover the digestive and excretory tracts, and
I shall close with two talks on personal hygiene." This ended the
preliminary matter, and the lecturer proceeded with the body of her talk
in a somewhat more mechanical style. The respiratory system was
dismissed in six minutes, although, in some curious way, Mr. Sprig had
strung the same material out to half an hour.
Before beginning upon the circulatory system, however, she sprang a
surprise. "For your convenience," she explained, "I shall draw a diagram
of the heart and its valves, and with your assistance I shall explain
its action." After a little wrestling with the diagram, which _would_
curl, she managed to pin it to the wall. She then proceeded, in red
crayon, to draw a fully equipped heart. She finished with audible relief
and, turning triumphantly--greeted Miss Balch and her brother Leofwin.
"Dear me, I am afraid we are intruding," said Miss Balch, looking around
with ingenuous charm.
Henry, having heard the bell which the social workers had been too
absorbed to hear, appeared at the door and relieved the situation
temporarily. Leofwin, however, whose eye was naturally caught by the
pictorial, was gazing at the circulatory system on the wall. "What on
earth is that?" he asked, with more curiosity than was perhaps
excusable. "It looks for all the world like some sort of impressionistic
valentine."
Nancy, for one reckless moment, was tempted to say that it was, but
temperate judgment prevailed. After all, why need she be ashamed of what
they were doing?
"Tom and I are giving a course of lectures at the Mill, in hygiene, and
we are just rehearsing a little; that's all. The valentine shows the
heart action. Those arm things are the valves, you see."
"But, really, you know, even a valve must have some perspective."
"Well, of course, I'm no artist. The cut in the dictionary was very
small, and when I enlarged it I tried to get the right proportions, but
I just had my tape measure and----"
"I shall help you. Elfrida will bear me out: I have always been
interested in the lower classes, and I shall love to go with you and
draw it when the time comes."
"Oh, I couldn't let you do that."
"Why not? I admit I've had no experience, but, after all, in a work of
this kind, it is the spirit that counts, isn't it?"
Elfrida had engaged Tom and Henry at a point as far distant as she could
from her brother and Nancy, and she now asked Tom what he thought of
Somebody's latest novel and made him lose track of their conversation.
"Are you _really_ a realist?" asked Miss Balch.
"No, I don't think I am."
"Fancy," replied Miss Balch. "Then I think you would like a thing I got
out of the library the other day by one of these new Russians. He has
some dreadful name. Well, it is about this man, a peasant, who falls in
love with this Bolshevist agent, and she uses the man, you see, as a
tool. Then there is this other woman in it who----"
Leofwin had adopted a very free-and-easy manner, it seemed to Tom.
He was sitting with his legs crossed, hands folded, one arm over
the back of his chair, half facing Nancy. He was being extremely
bland and at his ease. It was the sort of thing one might do in
a Russian drawing-room, perhaps, where the ladies doubtless didn't
mind being bitten in a fit of passion, but it was decidedly not the
way to behave in Woodbridge--although it must be confessed that an
impartial observer might have failed to distinguish any marked
difference in the way Tom himself was sitting, since he, too, had
crossed his legs, folded his hands, and was half facing Nancy. It
was clear that Nancy was painfully trying to do the honours. "You
must let me see your pictures," Tom heard her say.
"... Really, Mr. Reynolds, I think you might listen to me when I'm
trying so hard to entertain you."
"Why, I heard everything you said. All about this new Russian."
"Sly boots!" said Miss Balch archly.
Tom wondered what the proper reply was. What he wanted to say, in the
same arch manner was "Puss Wuss!" but instead he just grinned brightly
and let it be inferred that he was thinking of all sorts of clever
things.
"A penny for your thoughts, sir," cried Miss Balch.
This was unbearable, especially since Henry was apparently enjoying it
so much.
"I hope you won't think me rude, but I was thinking of the great pile of
uncorrected test papers at home on my desk, and I am afraid you will
have to excuse me." He rose. The whole room rose.
He started for the door, and Nancy hurried over to him. "Isn't it
dreadful?" she seemed to say. Behind her, like Tartarin's camel, loomed
Leofwin.
"We'll meet here at twelve," Nancy said, and with an effort she managed
to include the cavalier and irrepressible artist, who, beaming and
bowing, showed in every corner of him his thorough approval of the whole
arrangement.