BRIGHT DAYS AND DARK ONES
Although Reed Marshall kept his promise of coming to see Ellen, not once
was she at home when he called, which he did several times. All through
that holiday week there was something going on, for it seemed that the
old friends outdid themselves in their efforts to give Ellen pleasure.
There were teas, luncheons and theatre parties, musicales, concerts,
and, if nothing else offered, there were trips to the picture galleries,
so that the girl’s time was entirely taken up, and when the hour of her
departure struck she knew no more what Reed looked like than if she had
never seen him. Indeed it is not surprising that he passed out of her
memory almost entirely when two surprising incidents took place almost
at the same time.
It was at one of the studios on the day before New Year’s that Ellen
noticed a pretty girl looking at her with evident interest. Music was
going on; some one was singing. Ellen waited till the song was over
before she whispered to Mrs. Austin: “Do you know who that girl is, the
one in purple, sitting by Mrs. Everleigh? She has been staring at me as
if I were a curiosity.”
“Never saw her before that I know of. We’ll find out directly, when the
music is over and we have tea.”
That moment arrived before long. Mrs. Austin arose. “You stay here and
I’ll go find out about the purple girl.”
She had no sooner gone than the purple girl herself came and took the
chair Mrs. Austin had vacated. “Would you mind telling me your name?”
she said. “I came in late, and in such a crowd of course one doesn’t
wait for introductions. I am Mabel Wickham, Mrs. Everleigh’s niece.”
“I am Ellen North,” was the prompt reply.
“Not Ellen North from Marshville?” Miss Wickham leaned closer while an
amused look crept into her eyes as they travelled from Ellen’s hat to
her dress and then to the coat which hung over the back of a chair in
front of the two. “Is that your coat?” came the abrupt question. “Oh, I
beg your pardon for being so rude. I have no right to ask such
questions. Did you say you lived in Marshville?”
Ellen hadn’t said so, but she answered: “Yes, I live there. Is that
where you have seen me? Do you know the place?”
“Never was there in my life, but——” She was no longer able to keep back
her laughter, though presently she bit her lip and tried to look
politely serious. “You really must excuse me. I must seem a perfect
idiot, but I keep thinking of something so funny that it makes me
laugh.”
At this moment she spied a handkerchief lying on the floor, which she
picked up and began to examine. Ellen meantime searched for the one she
now missed. “I think that must be mine,” she said; “it fell out of my
lap, I suppose.”
“I am afraid you are mistaken,” rejoined Miss Wickham. “See, it bears my
initials, and, besides, has my private mark, a black dot in the corner,
a very tiny one, to be sure, but there it is.”
It was Ellen’s turn to stare; then suddenly came illumination. “You are
Mary West!” she cried. “I know you are, and that is why you have been
looking at me so hard; it is because of the hat and dress. You recognize
them, but why is your name Mabel Wickham, and how did you know about
me?”
Miss Wickham was silent for a moment. “You won’t be mad if I tell you?
I’ll ’fess up, though I know you will be absolutely convinced that I am
the idiot I seem to be.”
“Mad? I’m only delighted that I have a chance to thank the good fairy
who sent me that box and made it possible for me not to mortify my
friends here when I came to visit them. Do please tell me all about it.”
“Well, it was done in the manner of a joke, I was going out of mourning,
and had already given away a lot of things to perfectly ungrateful,
unappreciative persons, so I thought I’d do something unusual. I packed
a few things in a box to go off just anywhere, I didn’t care where. Then
I thought up a nice ordinary name. Ellen seemed to please me, but
Ellen—what? I stood up, shut my eyes, and turned around two or three
times. When I opened them I was facing north. Ellen North, said I, a
good sensible name, so I wrote that on the box. Then it occurred to me
that the name of the sender would be required. I took my own initials;
Mary would do for Mabel, and, as points of the compass were in order,
West would do for Wickham. The next question was where to send it. I
opened a map, shut my eyes again, and plumped my finger down anywhere.
It happened to fall on Marshville, so there you are. I know you must
think me the silliest, most fanciful person in the world, but I enjoyed
the game and sent out my box into the unknown, wondering what would
happen to it, and if any one would get it.”
“It is like a real Christmas fairy tale,” declared Ellen, “and a lovely
one for me. I don’t see how you thought of doing that way; yes, I do,
though, for I just love to use my imagination, and I am pleased to
pieces to think the things came my way just as if a fairy godmother had
brought them in a pumpkin-shell chariot.”
“Oh, you dear thing! I just love your saying that. I believe we are
going to be friends. I don’t have many friends because so many people
are stupid; at least, they think my flights of fancy are just crazy
foolishness. Perhaps I am as stupid as they because it isn’t yet through
my noddle how you happened to guess I was Mary West.”
“Because of the handkerchief, you see. It was such a nice fine one. I
found it in the pocket of the coat and so I used it. Don’t you see?”
Miss Wickham opened her bag and produced a handkerchief exactly like the
one she had picked up from the floor. “Twins!” she exclaimed. “But, oh,
dear, you are minus a handkerchief if I keep this one; that will not
do.”
“Please don’t bother. I had several for Christmas, beauties, from Mr.
Barstow’s Christmas tree.”
“But you will need this before you can get at the others. You can borrow
it.”
“I’ll be glad to, and I’ll send it to you properly laundered. Shall you
be here long, or are you going back to Baltimore?”
“How do you know that Baltimore is my home?”
“It was on the box; ‘Mary West, Baltimore.’”
“Of course; I had forgotten. I shall be at Mrs. Everleigh’s for another
week, and I do hope we shall meet again before you leave. May I come to
Mrs. Austin’s to see you?”
“Indeed you may, though I am to be here but a couple of days longer;
then, ‘back to the mines.’”
“O dear! I do want to know you better and to hear all about you——”
But here Mrs. Everleigh came up. “Time to go, Mabel,” she said. “Didn’t
you girls want any tea? I saw you two talking away for dear life, as if
you were old and tried friends.”
“Well, we are in a measure,” replied Mabel. “Ellen knows some intimate
acquaintances of mine.” The two girls exchanged glances and laughed.
“What’s the joke?” inquired Mrs. Everleigh curiously.
“Just a little private one. You’ll take me to the Austins’ studio, won’t
you, Auntie?”
“Yes, if you’ll come along now. We must be getting home.”
They made their farewells to Ellen and moved away, Mabel losing no time
in making inquiries about this new acquaintance, but saying no word
about the box.
Ellen, too, was prompt in hunting up Mrs. Austin and learning what she
might about Mabel.
“I found out about your purple girl,” said Mrs. Austin, “though, from
the way you two jabbered away like magpies, I don’t suppose there is
much you haven’t learned.”
“I didn’t learn so very much,” declared Ellen, “but we found out that we
have many things in common. Tell me about her, please.”
“She is a very wealthy girl, lives in Baltimore with her grandmother.
Her mother died when she was but a small child, and her father a few
years ago. Mrs. Everleigh is her aunt. I believe the girl is considered
rather peculiar, doesn’t care for society, a grave fault in the
grandmother’s eyes, who, like many Baltimoreans, prefers the social
whirl and the good things of life rather than the intellectual ones.
Mrs. Everleigh says her niece lives in a world of her own to which but
few are admitted. You liked her, Ellen?”
“Very much, and she wants to come to see me.”
However, the girls were not destined to meet again at this time, for
upon Ellen’s arrival at the studio there was a telegram for her which
meant an early start for home the next morning. The telegram read: “Have
had an accident. Come at once. Orinda Crump.”
It was an unhappy beginning of the new year. The lonely, wearisome
railway journey full of apprehension, the regrets for the good times
that the day was to have afforded, the fears for what might be looked
for in the future, all these brought a nervous, overwrought girl to
Marshville.
As she stepped from the train she looked around for some one to give her
news of Miss Rindy, and, to her relief, saw Dr. Rowe, who came up at
once. “Well, Ellen,” was his greeting, “I was watching for you. Come
right with me; my car is waiting.”
“Cousin Rindy, tell me, Doctor, what has happened to her?”
“Nothing that she won’t recover from, although it makes it pretty bad
for the present She fell and broke her hip yesterday morning.”
“She is at home of course. Who is with her?”
“It seemed best that she should go to the hospital, in fact she insisted
upon it,—said she couldn’t afford trained nurses and all that. I took
her myself.”
“But hospitals cost a lot.”
“Sometimes they do and sometimes they don’t.” The doctor was
non-committal. “I am going to take you there now. Rindy wants to see
you, I know. I sent the telegram in her name, though she didn’t want to
have it sent at all; said she didn’t want to break up your visit.”
“That’s just like her; she never thinks of herself. Will she have to
stay at the hospital for a long time?”
“That depends. I told her not to be troubled about you, for you can stay
with us. Caro is entranced at the thought. I shall be going over to the
hospital every day and can take you along, for she will want to see you
that often.”
“And I shall want to see her. How good you are, Doctor. Does she suffer
much?”
“She did at first, and will when she begins to exercise again, but she
is fairly comfortable now.”
It was a ride of but a few miles to the hospital, and soon Ellen was
following the doctor through a long corridor to the room where Miss
Rindy was. A white-gowned nurse met them at the door. “How is the
patient?” inquired the doctor.
“Doing very well,” was the reply.
The doctor beckoned to Ellen, who was soon looking down upon the pale
face of her cousin. “Well, Ellen,” was the greeting, “this is a pretty
how-do-you-do, isn’t it? I could kick myself for a clumsy old fool. No,
I couldn’t either, not with one leg out of commission. I want you to get
some of my things that I shall need, for goodness knows how long I may
have to stick here. Go over there, Sam Rowe, and talk to the nurse; I
have things to say to Ellen.”
The doctor nodded understandingly to the nurse and the two went toward
the door while Ellen drew up a chair close to the bed. “Now, listen,”
began Miss Rindy. “I’m not going to stay in this expensive room. It is
all nonsense. I am no better than lots of others in the free ward, and
not half so good as some. Look at the way our boys had to endure
privations and discomforts in hurry-up hospitals over there. I reckon I
can stand what they did. Sam Rowe won’t listen to me, but I want you to
impress upon him that I cannot pay for this room and a private nurse. He
has got to understand it. You tell him so. Now, take that bit of paper
and write down the list of things I want.”
Ellen did as she was bid, glad that she had made no promise of
persuading the doctor to move her cousin. She had no more than finished
her list than the doctor came over to the bed. “I think we’ve stayed
long enough for this time, Ellen,” he said. “I’ll bring her again
to-morrow, Rindy. She is going to stay with us, so you needn’t worry a
bit about her.”
“Maybe you think I have nothing else to worry about, Sam Rowe. You’ll be
wishing me a happy New Year next, I suppose. A nice year I have ahead of
me, haven’t I? The best I can expect is that I shall be able to go
around on crutches, but I am not going to end my days hobbling. When I
get into my death bed I mean to walk there.”
“Good sport!” cried the doctor. “That’s the way to talk. You may have to
begin with crutches, but I venture to say you won’t end with them. See
you to-morrow, Rindy.”
“Ellen hasn’t told me a word about her visit,” complained Miss Rindy.
“Time enough for that,” called back the doctor.
“Don’t you forget what I told you, Ellen,” Miss Rindy charged as her
visitors went out the door.
Ellen was almost in tears as they drove away. “It is so pitiful to see
her laid up like that,” she said. “She has always been so active and
capable. Will she ever walk again, Doctor?”
“To be sure she will, though not for some time, but she has the
perseverance and courage of a dozen women to see her through. She may
not be quite so active, but she is young enough to get back a lot of her
powers.”
“She vows she is not going to stay in that room, that she must go into
the free ward,” said Ellen after a silence.
“That’s all nonsense! The idea of Rindy Crump going into the free ward.
She must stay right where she is. To-morrow I shall tell her that she
can’t be moved because it will only retard her recovery, that there is
no room in the free ward, anything at all to keep her satisfied.”
“But she’ll not be satisfied. She has a horror of debt, and will worry
over the expense.”
“She mustn’t worry. What about those rich relatives of hers? Can’t they
come to the fore?”
“She’d rather die than appeal to them.”
“What about her brother? It surely is time he was doing something for
her, after all she has done for him.”
“She never hears from him. I believe he is in Seattle and doing well.”
“Humph! Somebody ought to let him know the state of affairs and at least
give him a chance to wipe out some of his obligations. I notice that
most persons are mighty eager to accept help, but are ready to give aid
to anybody except those who came to their assistance. It is a queer
twist in human nature.”
Ellen thought over this statement and immediately took it to heart,
determining that she would never be one of that class. She spoke her
thought openly. “I hope the day will come when I can show Cousin Rindy
how much I appreciate all she has done for me. I wish I could do it
now.”
“Don’t you worry about the present. We’ll fix it up somehow. Rindy has
too many good friends in this town to let her suffer.”
“O dear! But she couldn’t stand being an object of charity.”
“She needn’t be. I suppose it would be allowable to lend her what is
required, and let her pay in her own good time.”
Ellen was silent, although she knew that nothing would fret her cousin
more than the knowledge of a debt hanging over her. They had arrived at
the doctor’s by now, and Caro was on the watch for her beloved Ellen.
“I am so thrilled,” she exclaimed, “to think I am to have you right here
under the same roof with me. Of course I’m awfully sorry for poor Miss
Rindy, but at the same time I can’t but be happy that anything has
happened to bring you back sooner, and, better still, to bring you to
us.”
Ellen could not meet this exuberance with like enthusiasm, but she
responded as well as she could, and went in to the excellent dinner,
Caro’s arm embracing her waist, and Mrs. Rowe ready with a hearty
welcome.
There were a good many New Year’s callers that afternoon and evening,
for Marshville was still old-fashioned enough to keep up this custom,
and Ellen found herself called upon to be chief entertainer, as every
one demanded a full account of her visit to the city. She must exhibit
the miniature of her mother, the crystal beads, and the rest of her
gifts to the satisfaction and admiration of her girl friends, so really
she quite enjoyed herself, and was not so cast down as she had expected
to be.
“What clever, clever friends you have,” sighed Sally Cooper, “painters
and musicians and all that. Do any of them compose, Ellen?”
Ellen looked puzzled. “Do you mean write music?”
“No, I meant do they compose stories, novels, and things?”
Ellen bit her lip and glanced across the room at Clyde Fawcett, who
grinned an appreciation of Sally’s would-be elegance. “I believe some of
those I met do write. I know one or two are journalists and others are
contributors to the magazines,” was the answer.
“How wonderful!” sighed Sally. “I expect we seem very commonplace to
you. That Christmas Eve party must have been such fun, and wasn’t it
romantic to talk all evening to the boy who blacked up, and never find
out what he looked like?”
“I’ll bet he looked like an ape,” broke in Frank Ives gruffly. Frank, by
the way, had brought Ellen an ornate box of candy, large in size and
delectable as to contents. She was glad to pass it around, and one may
be sure that there was not much left by the time the evening was over.
“You must be worn to a frazzle, you poor darling,” said Caro as the door
closed after the last guest. “You haven’t had a moment for rest. Now
please sleep as late as you feel like in the morning and I’ll bring up
your breakfast.”
“You are a dear, thoughtful thing, Caro,” said Ellen, bestowing a kiss
upon her friend’s glowing cheek. “I don’t expect to sleep late, for I
promised Cousin Rindy that I would go over to the house and get some
things to take out to her, and your father says we shall go as soon as
his office hours are over.”
“Need you go? Dad could take them.”
“Oh, but I must go. I want to see Cousin Rindy, and she would be so
disappointed if I failed to come.”
“Well, I am not going to keep you up. I want you to go right to sleep.”
This remark showed great consideration on Caro’s part, for she had been
counting on one of those confidential talks which girls so love to
indulge in at bedtime, but her love rose above her desire, and she left
her friend without the prolonged good-night that would have pleased her.
But Ellen did not go right to sleep. In this first quiet moment her
thoughts rioted. There was so much to consider, to plan, to execute.
Uppermost was the consideration of Miss Rindy’s position. It was all so
difficult. For all the doctor had told her not to worry, she knew that
she must, for no one could realize so well what debt meant to Miss
Rindy. “Of course we can scrimp and save,—we shall have to,—but it will
be a long, uphill pull. If only I could think of some way to earn
enough.”
She lay with wide-open eyes, staring into the dark; then all at once she
sat up, as a brilliant idea came to her. “Of course,” she exclaimed,
“that would fix it. Why didn’t I think of it before?” Then she lay down,
turned over, and in a few minutes was fast asleep.