AFTERNOON TEA
The days slipped by with wonderful swiftness after the trunks had been
unpacked and things had settled down to the regular routine. Patricia
wondered at the evenness of their minds and the serenity of their
hearts in those first three weeks of studio life.
"Everything goes so smoothly," she confided to Miss Jinny one day at
the end of the fortnight. "It sounds monotonous, but I don't mean it
that way at all. We're all so _naturally_ polite and agreeable. We
don't seem to have to force ourselves a bit."
"That's because we've each of us got something to do," declared Miss
Jinny emphatically. "If we were idling around, musing on ourselves
from morning till night like some poor creatures do, we'd get prickly
mighty soon. People were made to work, and it's flying in the face of
Providence to try to get away from it. We all got our share in the
curse of Adam, and the sooner we realize it, the better for us."
Patricia played with the handle of the great glittering brass amphora
that stood by the low stool where she sat. Her face was puzzled though
not disquiet.
"I wonder just what my work will turn out to be?" she said
thoughtfully. "I'm beginning to be afraid I haven't any real work of
my own. I've tried so hard to get on with the modeling--for I do love
it--but it just seems as though I couldn't. That first head that they
liked so much, and the study of Ju is about all the sculpture I've got
in my system, I reckon. I'm downright ashamed to let them know----"
"You needn't be," declared Miss Jinny vigorously. "You never pretended
you were in it for anything but sport, did you? Bruce knows you're
about through with it; I heard him say so to Elinor yesterday."
"Oh, did he though?" cried Patricia, kindling. "How clever of him to
see. I thought no one _dreamed_!"
Miss Jinny chuckled. "We knew you were only marking time till you
stepped off into your music," she said encouragingly. "It was nice, of
course, that you got along so well, but no one expected you to take to
it for good and all."
Patricia sighed contentedly. "How nice you all are!" she said
appreciatively. "I thought you'd all be disgusted with me if I quit.
After Mr. Grantly said that study of Ju showed promise, I nearly wore
myself to a bone trying to make good. I've been scared stiff about it."
"Don't you worry, Miss Pat. You'll find your own work all in good
time. It mayn't be what you'd like it to, but it'll be something that
you can do better than any one else," said Miss Jinny with kind wisdom.
"Look at me. I'm sure that books and catalogues is my forte, but the
Lord knows better. He's given me the sense to see it, too, and so mama
is comfortable and happy and someone else who hasn't a dear mother
depending on her does the library work in my place."
"You're a darling," said Patricia, "and the Lord must be terribly fond
of you."
"Patricia Louise Kendall! That's sacrilege!" gasped the scandalized
Miss Jinny.
"Is it?" exclaimed Patricia, equally startled. "I didn't know it was.
Mr. Spicer said it himself yesterday when he was talking to me in the
print room, and I was telling him about your poor basket and saving
bank, and all that. I'm awfully sorry, Miss Jinny."
Miss Jinny had a queer look, Patricia thought, as she turned hurriedly
away with a murmured excuse about the tea table.
"Why, it's all ready," cried Patricia wondering at her changed manner.
"We put the sliced lemon on the very last thing."
But Miss Jinny was not to be diverted into talk again, and as she
started out of the studio the bell came to her aid, buzzing shrilly an
insistent summons to the door.
"That's Griffin; I know her ring!" cried Patricia jumping up. "I'll
go."
Griffin it was, in the highest good humor and bursting with news. She
did not wait to get out of her coat before she began to unbosom herself
to them both, alternately addressing each in turn.
"Kendall Major's missed it, I tell you, going off to that poky
architectural show," she declared to Miss Jinny. "We had the time of
our lives today in life class. Benton's up in the air because Howes
showed him that Ascension study she did over here--you know he never
could bear Haydon or his work--and he was as mad as hops that he should
be butting in with any of his own special pets like Howes."
"How mean!" cried Patricia spiritedly. "Bruce hasn't even seen that
study. What did he say about it?"
"Oh, he couldn't _say_ anything right out," replied Griffin knowingly,
"but he made it hot for us, I tell you. Poor old Bottle Green caught
it first, for painting before he'd given her permission, and then he
jumped on me for not painting. Radford caught it and then he lit on
Slovinski for using the Whistler palette, and she just _blew up_!
These Poles aren't like us tame tabbies, you know, and she's full of
ginger, for all her sleepy ways. She's terribly high-born, you know,
and can't bear anyone to look cross-eyed at her."
"What did she do?" asked Patricia eagerly.
"Slammed him good and hard," returned Griffin succinctly. "Told him he
was fifteen different sorts of a lobster."
"Oh, do talk English, Griffie dear," begged Patricia, laughing. "Miss
Jinny doesn't understand your Choctaw speech."
"Well then, she rebuked him thoroughly for his variable though severe
criticisms, and stated, with some emotion, that the Board should be
enlightened as to his unfitness, through his captious temper, for the
delicate task of nourishing the tender sensibilities of the budding
artist."
"My word, she wasn't shy, was she?" interpolated Patricia, much
diverted.
"Not she," declared Griffin. "We were all in a blue fit. Not that we
old stagers are sorry for the man, but it shocked our sense of what's
due him as a teacher. I was fearfully ashamed of Slovinski, but it
_was_ fun to see how astounded he looked. He just stood looking at her
more quietly than I'd ever seen him look at any one, and then he bowed
and asked her if she'd quite finished. Jiminy, but he was polite! We
all got a chill. Slovinski sat down, and we took to work again.
Benton went on criticizing as if nothing had happened, but we felt
mighty queer. Then Bottle Green stooped over to get her paint-box, and
up she starts, most tragic-like, with her hand, on her shoulder, and
she solemnly announces she's broken her arm."
"Poor thing, she's done it at last!" cried Patricia compassionately.
"Then what happened?"
"She got safely off, and then the model began to look queer, and in a
minute she'd fainted. Howes brought her to with a glass of mineral
water, and the class broke up. But the model didn't go. After Benton
had made a small spicy speech of farewell--he's leaving, can't stand
being sassed--she got up on the stand and gave us a bunch of monologues
that were out of sight. She used to be on the variety stage until she
lost her voice. I tell you, Kendall missed it."
"What did I miss?" called Elinor's voice from the other room, where she
had come in unnoticed.
She came to the doorway with her hat and furs still on and repeated the
question. Griffin gave her a synopsis of the row and the casualties
following, which she received with a little protesting laugh.
"I can't say it sounds better than the architectural show," she said,
pulling out her hat-pins.
"That part wasn't," agreed Griffin, "though a bit more sporting
perhaps. But what came after was. Mary Miller, the model, told us the
most wonderful story--her own life, first in the bush in Australia and
then here in New York and Chicago; and who do you think she is?"
"Melba in disguise?" mocked Elinor gayly.
"Stuff!" snorted Griffin, impatiently. "Her family comes from Rockham,
and her grandmother used to live at Greycroft. She's going out to see
the place when it gets warmer. I didn't tell her you lived there now,
for I didn't know whether you'd want----"
"Lands to goodness, I believe I've seen her!" exclaimed Miss Jinny.
"There was a Mary Miller, a little thing about five, used to play about
the place when old Miss Spence lived there. Her mother married again
and went to Australia. Must be the same one."
"Come over to the shop tomorrow and see if it isn't--" Griffin began,
when there was a sound of laughter and talking in the outer hall and
the door opened to admit Bruce, Margaret Howes, the two Halden girls
and Judith.
Mr. Spicer and Mrs. Shelly came in almost at the same time, and Miss
Jinny's delicious tea and nut-cakes were served with great gayety and
lively chatter. The Haldens, having come from a two-days vacation at
Rockham, were full of neighborhood gossip and gave very circumstantial
accounts of Greycroft, Hannah Ann and Henry.
"We saw Hannah Ann and Henry on Saturday and got all the news about the
place from them. Major had the colic one night, but Hannah Ann saved
him with a quart of homeopathic pills," laughed Miriam. "Everything
looked just as natural as life when we drove by this morning. They'll
be mighty glad to see you all when you go back."
"What are you putting up in the garden, Elinor?" asked Madalon,
stirring her tea. "I noticed that Henry had a lot of poles planted
along the south shrubbery----"
Judith's dismayed exclamation cut short her account of the activities
at Greycroft.
"Now you've done it!" cried Judith in distress. "She knows all about
it, and I meant it for a surprise! Oh dear!"
"I'm awfully sorry--" began Madalon, contritely, but Judith was too
deeply disappointed to be very polite.
"Hannah Ann and I have been writing about it for ever so long," she
lamented, "and we were having it put just where you wanted it, Elinor,
and Henry got the trees from the wood lot, and we were going to have it
for a surprise--" She broke off, choking.
Elinor slipped an arm about her. "But what is it, Ju dear?"
"A pup-pup-pergola," spluttered Judith, recovering a bit. "Just the
sort you wanted. And we planned for Miss Pat to make one of those
lovely stone seats out of concrete. But it isn't any use, now," she
ended forlornly.
"Don't be a muff," said Patricia briskly. "It's twice as good, don't
you see, coming out this way? Here are eight people surprised all in a
bunch, instead of merely Elinor and poor me. You've sprung it in the
very nick of time, Infant."
"Sure thing," supplemented Griffin genially. "I'm in it now, and if
you'd put it off, I'd been in Kalamazoo or Madagascar, and missed it
all."
Judith with this encouragement began to take heart, and by the time Mr.
Spicer and Margaret Howes had joined their congratulations to the
others, she was fully recovered and enjoying herself immensely, arguing
with Margaret Howes and Bruce as to the shape of the projected seat
with a freedom that was usually denied her.
The subject of Mary Miller was brought up and discussed with great
interest. Everyone advocated Miss Jinny's visit to the Academy, and
Judith added the hope that the descendant of the old housekeeper at
Greycroft might be able to throw some light on the disappearance of the
old miser's silver and bank books, a remark that caused some
consternation among the elder members of the party.
"Don't you go making suggestions of that sort," warned Bruce, with
impressive authority. "The girl will feel as though her
great-grandmother were a thief."
"Oh, I wouldn't put it that way," cried Judith, scandalized. "I'd just
sort of hint around gently. Maybe they dug it up long ago."
"Ju's got the idea from her last thriller that the Dutchman who used to
live at Greycroft buried his treasure somewhere about the place,"
explained Patricia to Griffin. "I suppose she'll spend her time
grubbing this summer."
Griffin pushed up her blouse sleeve, showing a remarkably thin arm.
"I'm your man, if you ever want a pal," she said to Judith. "I'm
trained down to the right weight now and ready for business."
Judith did not know whether she was being chaffed or not, so she
dexterously changed the subject.
"Doris Leighton's sister has the scarlet fever," she announced,
enjoying the stir that the name caused, "and Doris is nursing her. She
takes turns with the nurse, and Geraldine cries when she goes out of
the room."
"Phew, that doesn't sound like our fine lady of the stony heart!"
exclaimed Griffin. "Are you sure, kidlet?"
Judith nodded emphatically. "Mrs. Leighton told Miss Hillis over the
phone, and she told the class, as 'an example of sisterly devotion,'
she called it. I felt like telling her _what I knew_."
"Judith Kendall, you're a little monster!" cried Patricia, indignantly.
"Even if Doris did cheat, she's doing a noble thing now, and we ought
to be the last to blab, since Elinor got the prize. Doris had to pay
for her sins and she has human feelings, too."
"Pooh, she didn't have to pay much," said Judith with the callousness
of childhood. "She only gave back the prize and left the Academy."
"I'm glad to hear that she is making good now," said Margaret Howes
gravely. "I always felt there was a lot of good in Leighton under her
fluff."
"Perhaps it took hard rubs to bring it out," said Miss Jinny, pouring
another cup for Mr. Spicer. "We poor human critters are like that
sometimes. Good times spoil us. Maybe she's had it too easy, poor
girl."
"Souls have muscles, the same as bodies do, and they need exercise,"
agreed Bruce thoughtfully. "I know lots of fellows who are failures
through having too much money. It's a dangerous thing to let your soul
get seedy."
"Golly, that pretty nearly hits us all, doesn't it?" said Griffin
apprehensively. "I'm not so sure about myself, now you mention it.
Doris Leighton may be one ahead of me in this business. Fatty
degeneration of the soul is a new one to me."
They were all rather serious for a silent moment, and then Patricia
spoke. Her clear voice was rather low and timid, but her eyes were
shining.
"Let's phone to her and tell her that we all hope Geraldine will soon
be well," she said, looking at Elinor with loving confidence.
There was a murmur of assent and Elinor rose quickly.
"The very thing, Miss Pat," she agreed radiantly. "I'll look up the
number for you."
But Patricia shrank from appearing too magnanimous.
"It's your affair, Norn," she demurred. "You ought to do the talking."
So Elinor went into the sitting-room where the telephone was, and in
the intervals of their rather forced conversation, they could hear
scraps of her kind questions and gentle answers. When she returned to
the studio, her face was glowing.
"I'm so glad you thought of phoning, Miss Pat," she said, taking her
plate and cup from Bruce and seating herself by Miss Jinny. "Doris
was--well, I can't tell you what she said, but she certainly isn't as
bad as we thought her. She's just wrapped up in Geraldine and she
seems to think that this illness is a judgment on her for the prize
study."
"Poor thing," exclaimed Griffin. "Did you tell her we all asked for
her?"
Elinor nodded. "She said I might as well tell you all, for it would be
in the papers tomorrow. Her father has failed, and they're dreadfully
poor. It's been coming on for a long while, and that was why she
wanted the prize so much--not that she excused herself for it, she only
said I could see how she came to stoop so low. She was frantic for the
money and was so worried that she couldn't think of any subject for
herself. She thought I was rich and happy and wouldn't care. She even
thought I might not turn in my study at all, when I got sick that
night. She's had a terrible time about it, but she was so glad to have
the chance to explain."
"Why in the world didn't she say so before?" cried Griffin indignantly.
"She had a chance to defend herself. We're not absolutely inhuman."
"She couldn't, don't you see, without telling her father's private
affairs?" said Elinor gently. "She didn't feel that it was any excuse
for her conduct, anyway."
Patricia heaved a deep sigh. "Well, I must say," she said with a
triumphant look at Miss Jinny, "I do believe in first impressions and
I'm glad I always liked Doris Leighton."
Miriam Halden rose regretfully. "Sorry to break up the festivities,
Miss Jinny," she said, shaking hands, "but our train leaves in just ten
minutes, and Madalon has on bran-new pumps with heels that cut her down
to a mile an hour. We'll see you all again next week at the
house-breaking, as Judith calls it."
"We'll be here," promised Madalon, following her sister's example.
"We'll have to miss lunch and the Senior dance, but what's a mere dance
compared to helping a neighbor say farewell to their happy little home.
Look for us at twelve-thirty sharp and prepare an extra mess of
pottage, for we'll both be fearfully hungry. Tell David and Tom Hughes
we'll come in on the same train they do. Good-bye, be good till
Saturday and then we'll all be happy."