NEW ACQUAINTANCES
AMBITION in this world is often gratified in a most unexpected fashion,
and so it happened with Frieda Ralston!
For weeks before leaving the Rainbow Ranch she had discussed with Jim,
with Ralph Merrit, who was still engineer at the mine, and with her
sister Jack, whether or not they believed she would be able to make
agreeable acquaintances aboard ship or during the months of their travel
on the other side. For Frieda was certain that she should soon grow
weary with nothing to entertain her but miles of salt water, hundreds of
art galleries, thousands of pictures and statues. It was all very well
for Jack and Olive to enthuse over these possibilities and for Jean to
pretend to feel the same way. She wanted _people_ for her diversion and
hoped to be able to make a few friends in the course of their ocean
crossing. Though how this was to be accomplished without a single
introduction Frieda did not know. However, on the morning of the second
day of their voyage the youngest Ranch girl made the discovery.
In a state of blissful unconsciousness and without reflecting on the
events of the day before, she started down to breakfast with Jean and
Olive. Jack and Ruth were a little too weary to care about making early
appearances.
The morning was a perfect one, with a smooth sea, and the dining room
was crowded with passengers. One would hardly have expected that the
quiet appearance of three young girls could have attracted any special
attention. For a few moments they waited for the head steward to be
found, and were then led to their seats at the First Officer's table. It
was all very quickly done, yet Jean and Olive were distinctly aware that
a subdued murmur followed them; then that an entirely unnecessarily
large number of heads were turned in their direction. Of course Frieda
noticed this, too, but she merely presumed that their fellow travelers
were curious and had not the good manners that they should have had. The
idea that she or Jean or Olive could be exciting any particular
attention never occurred to her at first, so deeply did the scene hold
her attention.
Then, without warning, something took place which made Frieda flush and
tremble. Except that she was holding a menu card in her hand at the
moment the tears would have shown in her eyes.
Seated just across the table opposite her was a large, middle-aged
woman, dressed in black and wearing a quantity of handsome jewelry. She
stared hard at Frieda for the first few moments after her arrival. Then,
turning to the young fellow who sat next her, she announced in a loud
enough voice to be heard from one end of the table to the other, "It was
the plump, yellow-haired one, wasn't it, created such a stir? Seems like
it ain't possible she could have been asleep in some one's stateroom.
Much more likely she was in some kind of mischief! I am going to ask her
what she _really_ was doing?" Then she leaned half-way across the cloth
and, except for the young man's agonized protest, most assuredly would
have asked her question of Frieda.
But in an instant Jean grasped the situation. She was quicker than any
of the other girls to understand social matters, and now realized that
something must be said and done at once. Not only must she cover up the
awkwardness of the present moment, but save Frieda from further
discussion later on. They had believed that their search yesterday had
been conducted quietly, and yet questions must have been asked of many
passengers aboard and the whole business of the lost girl thoroughly
gone into. Frieda herself should speak now and right the whole matter.
Of course this would have been the better way, Jean thought. And yet one
glance at Frieda showed this possibility hopeless. Should the strange
woman ask her a single question or say another word concerning her
escapade, it was apparent that the youngest of the Ranch girls would
burst into tears before the many strangers at the breakfast table!
Frieda was not feeling very well. Perhaps because she had slept so long
in the afternoon, or, perhaps, for more sentimental reasons she had lain
awake several hours during the night past worrying over the events of
the afternoon. Not that she dreamed then that she might be talked about
aboard ship, but because she was sorry for the girls' and Ruth's
anxiety. Yet evidently persons had been commenting upon her! Moreover,
had she not just been called plump before everybody at their table?
Frieda was extremely sensitive on this subject and no one of her family
or friends dared mention it. It was because Jack and Olive were both so
absurdly thin and because Jean had a remarkably beautiful figure for a
girl of eighteen that Frieda might seem a little large in comparison.
The real truth was that she had only a soft roundness of outline, which
put attractive dimples, and curves in the places where you might have
expected angularities.
Therefore, in the pause following the older woman's speech, Jean looked
across the table with an air of quiet amusement. Immediately she held
the attention of the persons nearest them and at the same time gave the
embarrassed young man a reassuring smile.
He was not a young man, however. Jean decided from the weight of her
eighteen years of masculine experience that he was a college boy
probably in his Freshman year and certainly far more refined in his
manner and appearance than his ordinary-looking mother.
"If you were kind enough to be interested in our difficulty of
yesterday, I should be glad to explain to you how it had a happy
ending," she began in a friendly voice. "I suppose it was foolish for us
to have been so frightened."
And then in detail Jean went through the history of the entire
occurrence, beginning with their discovery of Frieda's absence, closing
with the moment of her appearance, and neglecting nothing to make her
story a good one. This in spite of Frieda's hot blushes and imploring
although unuttered requests for silence. In the end, however, every
member of the audience laughed, and Frieda determined never to forgive
Jean's unkindness, while Jean and Olive were both silently
congratulating themselves that any mystery surrounding her proceedings
had been so soon and so easily cleared up. They were fully aware that
their story would soon be circulated among a number of their fellow
passengers.
Yet for a long time afterwards Frieda Ralston would always recall this
first breakfast aboard the Martha Washington as one of the most
uncomfortable meals of her whole lifetime. More than anything she hated
being laughed at. And even the young man, whose mother had started the
entire unpleasantness, had the impertinence to forget his own
responsibility and to smile and exclaim "Great Scott" over her ability
to sleep so long and well in the midst of such great excitement. Later
in the meal he attempted smiling at Frieda once or twice, hoping that
she might have come in time to regard the situation more humorously. But
she had returned his glances with a reproachful coldness that apparently
had reduced him to a proper state of silence and humility. One thought,
however, upbore Frieda until she was able to withdraw from the dining
room. At least, she need never again recognize the presence of the two
objectionable persons across the table from her. For not only should she
never speak to them, she would not even incline her head in recognition
of their existence at meal times, although she had heard that this was a
polite custom among even the most exclusive of ocean travelers.
Seated in her steamer chair next her sister Jacqueline half an hour
later, with a veil tied close about her little scarlet velour hat,
Frieda was dumfounded to observe this same objectionable young man
stopping calmly before them.
Looked at closely he had a well-shaped head with almost too heavy a
jaw, a bright color, brown eyes and hair that he was vainly trying to
train into a correct pompadour. His shoulders were broad and athletic,
of a kind the younger Miss Ralston had previously been known to admire.
First the young fellow bowed politely to Jack. Then he turned as
directly toward Frieda as though they had already been properly
introduced.
"I am awfully sorry my mother made you so uncomfortable this morning,"
he began bravely, and turned so crimson that Frieda felt her heart
relenting.
"Mother is an awfully good sort, but she hasn't been around much and did
not guess how you would feel. And--oh, well a fellow can't be expected
to apologize for his mother! Only as she asked me to come and talk to
you, I am trying to do my best."
Then, answering a nod of invitation from Jack, who had liked his
straightforward manner, he sat down in the vacant chair next Frieda and
pulling out a box of chocolates from his pocket began to tell her the
story of his life. His name was Richard Grant. He and his mother came
from Crawford, Indiana, where his father had been a candy manufacturer
until his death a few months before. Richard was in his second year at
Princeton when his father had died, so, as his mother felt a trip abroad
might help her, he had dropped behind his class for half a year in order
to do what she wished.
He seemed so straightforward and so good-natured that by and by Frieda
forgot to remain angry. So when he begged her to come and be introduced
to his mother she hardly knew how to refuse.
Nevertheless Frieda found her first conclusion had been right. Mrs.
Grant was as impossible as she had previously thought her. Could she
ever endure the mother's acquaintance for the sake of the son's?
Still, Frieda continued walking the deck with her newest acquaintance
until Ruth was obliged to send Olive and Jean to look for her. And a
number of persons aboard had been watching the youngest of the Ranch
girls with a good deal of pleasure. For Frieda had never looked more
attractive than she did in her scarlet steamer coat and cap, with her
blue eyes as wide open and as deeply interested in everything about her
as a clever baby's and her cheeks, without exaggeration, as deeply pink
as a La France rose.