THE STUPIDITY OF MEN
"BUT, my dear, there isn't the least use of your denying it. The fact
that you are unhappy is as plain as the nose on your face. Of course if
you don't want to tell me the reason you need not, but don't expect me
to be so stupid as not to see it," Polly concluded solemnly.
Actually the two friends were in the time-honored old living room in
Sunrise Cabin. With their own hands they had brought in twigs and logs
from outdoors and lighted an enormous fire in the big fireplace. Then
Polly had produced three candles from her handbag and had stuck them
into the tarnished brass candlesticks that were still ornamenting the
mantel, where they were now burning fitfully.
With their coats off both of the old Camp Fire girls sat on rickety
chairs before the fire, their chins resting in their hands and gazing
none too happily into the flames.
"But I tell you, you are mistaken, Polly. There is nothing the matter
with me. Of course one can't expect to be happy when one grows older, as
in our old irresponsible Camp Fire days. Maybe it is old age that is
troubling me, for I am a most uninterestingly healthy person."
In replying Betty tried to make her tones as light as possible;
nevertheless her companion only frowned the more unbelievingly.
"Our Camp Fire days were never irresponsible ones for me, Betty child,"
Polly responded, gazing thoughtfully around the dear, dismantled room.
"Often I feel I never learned so much at any other time in my life as I
did then. But the fact remains that you are not happy as I want you to
be, and I wish with all my heart that you loved me enough to tell me the
reason why. You see, Betty, I am rather a lonely, good-for-nothing old
maid and I can't expect much for myself. But you have absolutely
everything in the world any woman could wish. And I think it is
positively wicked of you not to be the same gay, sweet Betty."
At this Polly got out a small handkerchief and began dabbing her Irish
blue eyes, that were shedding tears partly from the smoke of the fire
and partly from a general sense of discouragement.
In return Betty stared back at her with equal severity. "What a
perfectly absurd fashion for you to talk, Polly O'Neill!" she replied.
"You know perfectly well that if you had chosen to marry you might have
had what I have. Only you didn't want to marry; you wanted a career and
to be famous and to make money instead. Well, haven't you succeeded? Is
that what you are crying about?"
Polly nodded. "I expect there isn't any law about wanting everything, is
there, Betty Ashton Graham? So long as women are women, no matter what
they may try to do or be, there will be times when they cry for nice
husbands and babies. But I wasn't crying about me, it was about you,"
she continued ungrammatically and with her usual logic. "Here you are
growing more beautiful every day you live. Everybody loves you; you have
hundreds of friends, the two most fascinating children in the world,
except Mollie's, and a husband who is about the best and cleverest man
in the state, and who simply adores you, and yet you are wretched and
cross and unlike yourself. I watched you yesterday, Betty, and you never
smiled a single time when you thought no one was looking and you never
once spoke to Anthony. The poor fellow appeared dreadfully troubled too.
Whatever is the matter, I am much sorrier for him than I am for you,"
Polly concluded somewhat vindictively.
"Oh!" Betty faltered and then was so silent that Polly humped her stool
nearer until her shoulder touched that of her friend.
"That last remark wasn't true, of course, Betty," Polly apologized. "For
if Anthony is really a snake in the grass and treats you badly when he
looks so noble and kind, why, I shall simply come to Concord and tell
him what I think of him right in the Governor's mansion. I don't care
whether he puts me into the state prison or not."
Then, although she had been tremblingly near tears herself the moment
before, Betty was compelled to laugh. Whoever could do anything else in
Polly O'Neill's society? The thought of Anthony's thrusting a very
noisy and protesting Polly into prison was a picture to dispel almost
any degree of gloom.
Betty slipped her arm across her friend's shoulder. "No, dear, you must
not think Anthony is unkind to me; it isn't that," she responded slowly.
"Only I don't believe he exactly 'adores' me as much as he used to.
Sometimes men get tired of their wives."
"Nonsense, goose! What put that notion in your head?" Polly returned
lightly, although she was a little frightened by her friend's reply.
Really she had not believed that anything could have come between
Anthony and Betty. Her suggestion had only been made in order to induce
Betty to deny it. The next moment she leaned over and put several fresh
logs on the fire.
"Nothing and no one in this world could ever persuade me, Betty dearest,
that Anthony does not adore you," Polly then continued with convincing
earnestness. "You see, he began when you were sixteen years old and he
never knew that any other girl lived in the world. He does not know it
now, for he never even glanced at a single one of us yesterday, if he
could help it. But you see Princess, dear, you are a good deal spoiled.
You always have been ever since you were a baby, by your family and all
your friends. Even the Camp Fire Club used to look up to you and be more
devoted to you than any one else. Esther has always been your slave and
now your little French girl seems to feel about you just as Esther used
to do. Really, Betty, I expect you need discipline."
Yet even as she spoke Betty's auburn hair glistened with such exquisite
colors in the firelight that Polly stroked it softly with her slender
fingers.
The Governor's wife was thinking too deeply to notice her.
"I wonder if things are my fault, Polly. I almost hope they are," she
answered wistfully. "You see, it has seemed to me lately that Anthony
has been dreadfully unreasonable. He won't do the things I ask him to
and though he is too busy to be with me himself, he isn't willing for me
to spend much time even with my oldest friends."
"Oh, ho!" whistled Polly softly. "What friends, for instance, Princess?"
"Oh, Meg Emmet and--John Everett. Isn't it absurd? But Anthony has
always felt a prejudice against John ever since we were boys and girls
together here in Woodford," Betty explained. "I don't care particularly
for John now myself. He has grown kind of stupid and thinks too much
about what he eats, but it would look utterly ridiculous of me to cut
him for no reason except that Anthony is absurd."
Polly dug her chin deeper into the palm of her hand as she so often did
in moments of abstraction.
"Seems like a little enough thing to do if Anthony wishes it and you
could do it very gracefully you know, Princess dear," Polly replied.
"Besides, I am not so sure Anthony has no reason for his prejudice. I
never liked John Everett a cent myself when we were all young. He was
always trying to lord it over the rest of us and pretend to be very rich
and grand and superior. Besides, Betty Graham, I don't believe I should
care to have a husband who would do every solitary thing I asked him to
do. Somehow, I think I would like him to have a little judgment of his
own now and then. So you really wish Anthony to do exactly as he is
told. I wonder if your children are as obedient? But come along, dear,
it is getting so late Mollie will be having fits about us. Fortunately
you are a more sensible woman than I am. A perfectly obedient husband is
about the last thing in this world I require. To what dreadful end would
I bring him!"
But Betty did not stir from her stool even when her companion had
crossed over the room and now stood holding out her long fur coat,
waiting for her to put her arms inside it.
"Dear, if there is one thing I am more sure of at this moment than of
anything else, it is that I am not _so_ sensible a woman as Polly
O'Neill. Though goodness knows I never could have believed it!" Betty
whispered, laughing and yet profoundly in earnest. "It was a most
excellent sermon and I mean to do my best to profit by it. Truly I have
been behaving like a spoiled child for weeks. I know Anthony has a great
many things that trouble him and I ought to have been more considerate.
Somehow I expect this marriage is really more the girl's business than
the man's. He has to make the living for the family in most cases and
the Camp Fire taught us that home making was a girl's highest
privilege."
Then Betty got up and slipped on her beautiful long coat and the two
friends started back toward Mollie's big farm together.
In all their girlhood they had never felt more intimate or more devoted.
Yet neither one of them talked much during the long walk, just an
occasional question now and then.
The sun was going down, but there was an after-glow in the sky and
because of the whiteness of the snow there was still sufficient light.
At least Polly and Betty could see each other's faces with perfect
distinctness.
They had nearly reached the farm-house when Betty suddenly stopped and
put both hands on Polly's shoulders.
"Look me directly in the eyes, Polly," she commanded.
And Polly attempted doing as she was bid, but her lashes drooped until
they touched her cheeks.
"Have you fallen in love with some one recently, Polly? Is that why you
talked about yourself in such a discouraged fashion just now and
lectured me so severely?" Betty inquired.
Polly shook her head. "I don't know whether you would call it falling in
love recently, Betty, or whether I have been in love for the last ten
years. But I saw Richard Hunt again when I was in Colorado and he was
even nicer than he used to be. He don't care a single thing about me any
more, Betty. He hasn't even sent me a Christmas card! The letter I had
from him a few days ago was all about Bobbin. He wasn't even interested
enough to inquire if I was well."