It was impossible for me to resist my impulses as we dashed through the
sunshine. To be absolved from every responsibility as I breathed with
joy the vigorous, sedative air--a mingled freshness of May and
October--had intoxicated my nerves. Unconsciously I allowed sentiments
to escape, which I usually restrained when in the society of the
brilliant cynic by my side.
It seemed impossible that the most hardened wretch could be capable of
criminality upon such a divine morning; and I enthusiastically aired my
moral philosophy, much to the amusement of Mrs. Sanderson, who jestingly
replied, as we turned from a long avenue into the principal business
street of Pasadena--"As usual, my dear, you have caught entirely the
local spirit of your environments. I am told that the millennium has
already begun in Pasadena, and that even now there are more sanctified
cranks to the acre than in any town in America."
As the lady spoke, a Salvation Army girl approached with the _War Cry_.
The fresh young face peering from beneath the ugly bonnet had a demure
fascination, and rebellious to the scornful expression of my companion,
I dropped the requested nickel into the extended hand of the pretty
fanatic. As the young woman retired to the sidewalk, Mrs. Sanderson
laughed a derisive little laugh.
"I am sure you will be doing something wild if you stay in this country
long," she said. "If it were not for Marjorie I should feel alarmed. The
noticeable attentions of the sallow, sanctimonious priest at the hotel
may yet prove dangerous. I shall feel it my duty to keep an eye upon you
both."
"Pray do," I replied coldly, as we left the trap and entered a dry-goods
store, gay with Christmas decorations, and crowded with shoppers.
Wending our way to the ribbon counter we found it thronged by pretty
girls, chattering merrily as they selected various shades from a gay
labyrinth of color, that announced a sale of remnants.
It was evident that but one damsel of the group had troubled herself to
remember that the month was December, for she alone did credit to her
conventional convictions. She resembled, at first glance, a properly
rolled umbrella. Her tailor-made gown was severe in the extreme, and her
hat and carriage were harmoniously stiff. Her companions wore cheerful,
girlish costumes, ranging in variety from a white flannel tennis frock,
supplemented by fur cape and straw sailor hat, to the very correct
street suit of the severe young woman. Bright eyes and glowing cheeks
showed plainly that if cotillions were a frequent occurrence in
Pasadena, as the conversation of the lassies indicated, their disastrous
ravages were providentially repaired by horseback riding and tennis the
year round.
We had not expected to meet friends among the merry bevy, but as the
young woman of the "tailor-made" turned to leave the store, Mrs.
Sanderson recognized her. She was Miss Walton, the daughter of an old
friend, a wealthy New Yorker, who now lived most of his time in
Pasadena.
The acknowledgement was instantaneous, and before the ladies had
exchanged a dozen sentences they were joined by a younger sister who was
quite a beauty.
"This encounter is delightful," said the younger girl, extending
cordially a pretty bare hand slightly browned by the sun. "I am so glad
you have come, for now we can have Mr. Sanderson for our cotillion. We
were quite desperate for another man, as one of our dearest one-lungers
has been forbidden to dance. The pretty, tall girl buying the pink
ribbon is the unfortunate bereft of her partner. She will be delighted
with her luck, when I tell her she is to dance with a man who will not
be a responsibility."
"For shame, Ethel!" interrupted the tailor-made Miss Walton; "what will
the ladies think?"
"The simple truth," replied the irrepressible Ethel. "The ladies have
doubtless learned of the one drawback to our glorious climate--its
dearth of able-bodied dancing men. Do you wonder, Mrs. Sanderson," the
girl continued appealingly, "that we jump at the chance to dance once in
a while with a man who is not delicate, who has never had a hemorrhage
or organic heart trouble? Of course," she rattled on, "we have a few
sound men, but this year has been an off year for the unengaged. The two
dear fellows who made love collectively have gone East, so you see a new
man is like balm in Gilead."
"Sidney must certainly attend the cotillion," his mother said, much
amused.
"Of course he must," the girl replied, gaily. "He will be the belle of
the ball. When I tell the girls confidentially that he won't have to be
saved a particle, won't they dote on him? You see it is simply crushing
to have the responsibility of a one-lunger for a whole evening. Delicate
men are always idiotic about getting in a draught, and as stubborn as
mules about not putting on overcoats when healthy people are freezing.
It certainly is not pleasant to stop a man in the middle of a waltz when
you see his wind giving out, or to be blamed the next day when he is
absolutely ill. Of course you have to be sympathetic, send him dainties,
and take him to drive as soon as he is out again, but the responsibility
after a time becomes too serious to be interesting."
"Ethel!" said her sister, "what do you mean? She is really not as
heartless as she appears," Miss Walton continued, turning to Mrs.
Sanderson. "I trust you will make due allowance for a young lady who
persists in coming to town in a tennis costume; but as my father has
always allowed her to act like a barbarian, mamma and I can do nothing."
"She seems delightfully hopeless," Mrs. Sanderson replied. "We must have
the pretty barbarian at San Gabriel as soon as possible. Sid would find
your case most interesting, Miss Ethel, but perhaps you are not aware of
his missionary tendencies?"
Ethel laughed, but Miss Walton took no pains to conceal her annoyance,
although she politely seconded her sister's invitation to lunch that
same day at Crown Hill.
"You shall not escape us," Ethel said, gaily, as we hesitated on account
of our number, explaining that five hungry people were too many to usher
unexpectedly upon even the most long-suffering cook. "Not at all," the
girl declared. "Wong would be in despair if no company came, as he was
expecting guests who at the last moment sent word that it would be
impossible for them to come."
Her father and mother, too, were away, and "but for the delightful
accident of the morning my sister and I would have been all alone," she
added, convincingly.
Promising to accept the invitation at the time appointed, we left the
store in search of Sidney and the children.
Looking about, we perceived the team hitched across the street, while
those we sought had gone into a confectory close by. I could see
Marjorie dancing in front of the door with a box of candy.
The child was still too delicate for rash experiments, and I hastily
rushed to her rescue. Mrs. Sanderson cynically remarked that possibly
Marjorie might find it less easy to be good than her mother, adding that
if the divine climatic restraints had not proved stronger than her
temptation I must be merciful. I could not help feeling irritated by the
sarcastic remark, and replied with spirit. Mrs. Sanderson must have seen
the uncomfortable flush that I felt mounting to my cheeks, for in her
inimitable way she apologized.
"Dear little saint," she said, coaxingly; "forgive me if I am less
sentimental than yourself. It is, perhaps, because I have lived too long
in this stupid world to believe in it very much. Alas! I am not a poet,
and my blood runs cooler every day." A half tragic expression, the
suggestion of regret, darkened the woman's handsome, composed face. In
an instant it fled, leaving no trace of emotion.
I was much relieved to find that Mariposilla had kindly restrained
Marjorie's saccharine yearnings. The child was obediently awaiting
permission to eat a chocolate cream.
Mariposilla, too, had a box of candy. Sidney gallantly handed about
another, which I saw was intended to insure the Spanish girl's
individual claim to the little gift he had just made her.
As we left the shop, Mrs. Sanderson's eye caught sight of a window just
beyond, in which was displayed a choice collection of Indian baskets.
The craze had seized the lady the year before, returning with renewed
vigor, she laughingly owned, when Sidney attempted to restrain her
covetous longings. Her son declared that it would even now be
impossible to take home all the trash she had accumulated.
"Never mind," she insisted, "we shall look at the collection. I can see
at a glance that it is a fine one, and it is not yet time to go to the
Waltons'."
The collection in question, we learned, was a private one offered for
sale by a boom victim, whose inflated ideas of Pasadena real estate had
at one time stimulated his artistic desires to ruinous extravagance. At
that time he had ransacked the country for miles around for rare
baskets, regardless of price, which now he was obliged to sell.
I learned later that Mrs. Sanderson was ever upon the look-out for
forced sales. Keenly alive to chances for procuring things at half
price, she was always alert for the critical moment.
Her enthusiasms over the existing opportunities were those of a
connoisseur loaded with the offered commodity, yet unable to endure the
thought of a Philistine invasion.
She said it was wrong for her to consider the purchase of another Indian
basket, but if the beautiful cora with the feathers was not so
extravagant in price she might possibly add it to her collection.
The clerk in attendance now signaled the owner of the baskets from the
rear of the store. The gentleman came at once, and tried in vain to
convince Mrs. Sanderson that the cora with the feathers was so unusually
rare that it was worth much more than the price demanded. He said
pathetically that his collection was very dear to him, he loved each
basket with a different degree of affection, for he had discovered them
all. Each had a little history.
Dearest of all was the beautiful cora which the lady admired, and
nothing but absolute necessity compelled him to part with it.
Mrs. Sanderson replied that she understood perfectly his feelings. She,
too, had always been a great collector. She had even at this late day
discovered baskets, and knew now of a Mexican settlement where valuable
things were still in hiding. She thought she would soon go upon a tour
of discovery, and perhaps she might find a cora with feathers. She was
sorry not to assist the gentleman in his difficulties. She would be
very fond of the feather basket, she knew, and if the price were reduced
upon three larger baskets as well as upon the one she admired, she might
possibly take all four. However, she had best flee from temptation. It
was getting late, after twelve, and the Waltons were expecting them at
one.
With her inimitable smile she bade us make haste to depart, while she
sympathetically hoped, in the hearing of the obsequious clerk who opened
the door, that the feather basket might soon find a purchaser who would
appreciate its beauty.
As she left the store her deliberation was masterly. Before she had
reached the sidewalk the clerk had motioned her back. The four baskets
were hers at half their value.