The moment Polly was given a skirt, she donned it gratefully and said to
Mrs. Ashby, her hostess: "Now I must find Elizabeth and have her cared
for. I left her with Anne."
"Where--where is she? I'll send James for them. But I want you to keep
quiet, or you'll be prostrated, dear child."
Polly smiled--she prostrated! But she explained: "Anne is sitting on the
grass on the side street around the corner, taking care of the girl who
fainted in the back-room of the theatre."
James was summoned from the front window where he had been watching the
fight against the fire, and now took his orders eagerly. Polly pointed
out the corner where she had left her friends and, in another moment,
the butler was gone.
"I s'pose I ought to go and hunt up my friends who escaped over the
roofs," ventured Polly.
"You'll rest here upon this divan, or your parents will sue me!"
retorted Mrs. Ashby, trying to compel, with gentle hands, obedience to
her command.
Polly laughed softly. "My parents would sue you if you prevented me from
doing my duty to others. Why, you-all make such a fuss over that
pipe-climbing, and it is next to nothing for a Rocky Mountain girl. A
day in a blizzard on the cliffs is ten times more hazardous."
Mrs. Ashby was consumed with curiosity to ask this handsome girl who she
was, and all about herself, but she controlled herself admirably, for
she knew her guest ought to keep quiet.
The door-bell rang and its echo pealed through the house, but the
servants were out watching the exciting events of the fire, and James
had been sent for the other girls. So Mrs. Ashby opened the door.
"I just heard that Polly Brewster was here--oh! is she all right!" cried
the excited voice of Mrs. Wellington.
"Right as a trivet, dear Mrs. Wellington!" called Polly springing from
the couch to greet the lady.
"Oh--oh! Thank God! I've worried and cried over you three precious girls
until my eyes are blinded! They told me that everyone was out of the
place but you three!"
"Did everyone manage to escape safely?" asked Polly, anxiously.
"Everyone got out, but oh! such a panic! Some are torn, and battered
black and blue, from the stampede down through those front stairs and
hall. I don't believe a single soul got out with a whole gown! They tell
me it was all the fault of that 'Pool Club' on the second floor; they
gave a 'smoker' to-night, and when the fire was discovered on their
floor, they caused the dreadful block in the front halls."
"Gowns are of no account if everyone escaped with life," said Mrs.
Ashby.
"But it is most unfortunate for me, just now. The story getting into the
newspapers, will ruin my reputation as a school principal. Folks will
ask, 'Why did she ever choose such a place for an entertainment;' but
they will never know that I tried everywhere else, first, and found
everything engaged for this week. I begged the girl who started the idea
to postpone the play until the week after Thanksgiving holiday, but she
stubbornly refused. So I took what I could get. I dare not tell the
reporters that it was merely to _please_ Elizabeth Dalken, and because
Elizabeth's father pays strictly in advance and has his daughter take
all 'extras.'
"You have no idea what it means to me. I am paying off the mortgages on
that house where the school is located, so that I might be able to take
a deep breath before I am too old to work. But this unhappy accident
will ruin my reputation as a careful superintendent."
"Elizabeth Dalken! I know her father very well, and we think he is one
of the finest of men. We seldom meet Mrs. Dalken or the daughter, as we
do not belong to the same set. Since Mr. Dalken separated from his wife,
we have not seen her at all, but he was here and dined with us, this
very evening," said Mrs. Ashby.
"If I could only explain to him just how this happened, he might not
blame me for his daughter's injury."
"Was she hurt?" exclaimed Mrs. Ashby. Then James came in, followed by
three girls, and the adults who had escaped over the roofs.
"Here we are, Polly--safe and sound," Mr. Maynard's cheery voice greeted
the girl who jumped up at sight of them.
Excited cries, and hugs, and happy laughs now followed as each one found
the others without a hurt, Elizabeth Dalken being the only one who had
received an injury, and that was merely a flesh-wound cut by the edge of
the door as her head struck it.
Mrs. Ashby took charge of Elizabeth, and washed her face; then placed a
strip of court plaster over the cut to keep it clean.
The fire was out and the crowd had dispersed before the firemen finished
their work in and about the house. The Chief came to Mrs. Ashby's door
and asked for the young lady who was such a marvellous climber. So he
was invited in to see for himself.
"Young lady, I want to make a record of this deed, as I have to report
everything to the police department, you know. And I am proud to say,
our records are never kept in the dark when visitors come in to see our
engine house. It's seldom we can talk about, or show a page, with such a
brave act as yours, written upon it."
Polly smiled. "But it really wasn't anything to fuss over. It wasn't
dangerous, you know, and for anyone who can climb as well as I can, it
would have been cowardly to stand by and _not_ act. You needed a light,
agile climber whose weight would not break that leader away from the
wall; and I happened to be that one."
The Chief and Mrs. Ashby exchanged glances, then laughed. "I guess it's
no use trying to make a heroine of her--she won't have it so!" said he.
Then Eleanor spoke up. "That's because she's accustomed to doing such
great deeds out in the mountains where she comes from--walking on the
heads of rattle-snakes, killing grizzlies and lions as if they were
rabbits, saving a lot of tenderfeet from blizzards and landslides--these
are but a few of the _little_ things she does out there!"
The New Yorkers gasped in astonishment; even James, the butler, stood
gaping with open mouth at a real live heroine--never seen before by him
except on the movie screen. So intensely interested was he, that he
failed to hear his master enter by the front door, followed by a
gentleman. They both burst into the room and stood amazed.
Then Mr. Ashby apologised for the abrupt entrance: "Dalken and I were at
the Club when we heard of the fire so near my place. And when Dalken
heard that it was Mrs. Wellington's school-girls who were entertaining
on the third floor, he came with me to see if his daughter is safe. Does
anyone know where Elizabeth is?"
"Here--right here, Mr. Dalken," Mrs. Ashby quickly assured the father.
And she beckoned Mrs. Wellington to bring the girl from the alcove where
she had been resting.
"My poor little girl!" quavered the father, taking the meek and
broken-spirited Elizabeth in his arms. "Are you badly hurt?"
She began to cry softly against his coat collar but Mrs. Ashby reassured
Mr. Dalken. "Only a scratch. Her forehead may swell a bit and be
discolored for a few days, but that is all. Elizabeth owes her life to
these two girls here, Mr. Dalken. One carried her out of the building
after she had fainted, and the other went first and found a way down the
back stairs."
"Not really!" the amazed man gasped. "Tell me about it."
But Polly was a poor narrator, so Anne decided to speak. She was bound
that Polly should not belittle this deed as she had the climbing to the
fourth floor of the burning building.
That Mr. Dalken was deeply moved, everyone could see, and when he shook
hands with the two girls he said gravely, "I shall never forget how you
kept me from being childless. My baby boy died three years ago to-night,
and I could not have stood losing my little girl, too, on the
anniversary of that sad experience."
Elizabeth then remembered the date and hiding her face, ran back to the
alcove to cry softly to herself. Mrs. Ashby and Mrs. Wellington knew the
sad story, so they allowed her to weep alone. But Mr. Dalken,
tender-hearted, would have gone to comfort the girl, had not Mrs. Ashby
placed a detaining hand upon his arm and said: "No, dear friend--better
leave her to remember and realize everything."
Polly and Eleanor saw and heard and could not understand, but they
thought it was no concern of theirs, so they forgot it.
Everyone had been introduced informally to everyone else, and at last
Mrs. Ashby said: "I have had a bit of refreshment served for you, in the
dining room, before you go home. After such exposures and excitement, I
think we all will need something."
Mr. Fabian wished to excuse himself, but his friends would not hear of
it. Then Mr. Dalken came over and spoke to him. "Are you Mr. Fabian, the
artist?"
"They say I am an artist, but I doubt it, myself," replied Mr. Fabian,
humbly, but smiling at the questioner.
"Then I am delighted to have met you, for I have a niece studying in
Paris, and she writes me pages upon pages about Mrs. Fabian and the
daughter Nancy, and how lovely they have been to take her about with
them."
His wife and daughter were Mr. Fabian's pet subject so now he seemed to
expand marvellously, and smiled benignly upon everyone present. On the
way to the dining-room, Mr. Dalken and the artist exchanged
heart-to-heart ideas and were soon fast friends.
But scarcely had they seated themselves ere another mad peal of the
door-bell took James from the pleasant task of serving an impromptu
supper. He was heard arguing with someone in the hall, then Mrs. Ashby
turned to her husband and said: "You go and see what is the matter."
After a short time, three re-entered the room--James, Mr. Ashby, and an
ambitious-looking young man with alert bright eyes.
"Representative from the Press wants us to give him all the inside news
about the fire," explained Mr. Ashby, looking at the circle about the
table.
Mrs. Wellington turned pale and gazed beseechingly at Mr. Maynard,
hoping he could help her out in the inevitable story that would be
written up about her school. But Mr. Dalken saw the look and
comprehended immediately.
"Hello, Dunlap! How'd you get this assignment from the night-editor?"
"Oh--it's Mr. Dalken. I'm delighted to see you, sir," returned the
reporter, very respectfully.
"Yes, these are friends of mine. Some of them are the dearest friends I
have, so I do not wish them to be annoyed by finding a garbled story in
the papers to-morrow morning. Consequently, I will, with the assistance
of these friends, give you the facts, simple and straightforward, but
see that you add nothing to them nor delete a line. Tell your boss that
I said so!"
"I sure will, Mr. Dalken, and maybe I won't be the thankful guy if you
tell me the story! Can I say it came from you?" was the eager reply of
the man Dunlap.
"No, sir! I am not in this at all, except as one who rushed here to help
friends. Now this is the story for your paper."
Mrs. Wellington had been anxiously whispering to Mr. Fabian, and the
latter now secured Mr. Dalken's attention. "May I have a word with you,
in private, before the reporter takes down any notes?"
Out of hearing of the others, Mr. Fabian then explained that Elizabeth
had stubbornly refused to postpone the entertainment, and because of her
insistence, Mrs. Wellington had taken whatever hall she could find. But
she did not want Elizabeth to be made to bear any of the blame, so she
wants you to touch wisely on anything that has to do with the
theatricals.
"I certainly appreciate Mrs. Wellington's thoughtfulness and I will
remember this. I'll see what can be done with Dunlap."
"Mr. Dalken is a born story-teller, Dunlap, and that is why he is so
popular, I think," remarked Mr. Ashby, just then.
"Sit down there by Fabian, Dunlap, and join our circle," cordially
invited the story-teller, after he had frowned threateningly at his
host.
"Give Dunlap some coffee and don't let him jot down a word until I've
done talking. Then we will pick out the notes he is to have," added Mr.
Dalken.
"Oh, you can tell it so well, do let me write as you narrate?" begged
the reporter.
"No, sir! I can't read short-hand and you may get in a word I don't want
you to take. Here, James, remove the pencil and pad from that young
man."
Everyone laughed, and Dunlap meekly surrendered the articles mentioned.
Directly Mr. Dalken began his story, the wily reporter had another
pencil and pad before him. But Fabian stealthily took possession of
these also, and the laugh went against the young man that time.
While Mr. Dalken wove a veritable thriller out of the material provided
by the fire, Mrs. Wellington wondered how it was possible to present the
facts so well and at the same time prove, beyond doubt, that the young
ladies of Mrs. Wellington's school were so perfectly trained and
educated that they were a great factor in saving lives and property that
night. At the end of the story, Mr. Dalken said that some bright
investor might find a handsome revenue in building a fire-proof Hall
where just such entertainments could be given--high-school girls who
loved to give parties but could not lease one of the hotel ball-rooms,
weeks in advance and pay exorbitant prices, and then possibly change
their plans before the event.
"You can make a separate paragraph of what I said, if you like, and
preface it with the remark: 'When asked what he thought about the fire,
Mr. Dalken, who viewed the blaze from a house opposite the scene, said':
you know the rest," the famous financier saw that the reporter
comprehended, and then he turned to the others seated about the table.
"Anything to add to my story?"
"It was very fine, especially about our dear Principal, but you didn't
say enough about Polly carrying Elizabeth safely out," Eleanor said,
eagerly.
"I followed a lead given me by Mr. Fabian. We all think it best not to
mention names, but to make the incident impersonal," explained Mr.
Dalken.
Eleanor pouted, for she wanted to have Polly given all the credit for
what she did. But a sly look from the reporter gave her an idea, and she
smiled back understandingly.
Then the story was pieced out for Dunlap and when he had taken down all
his notes, he jumped up and said: "I know you will excuse me for rushing
away, but I want to get this in type at once. In case you have forgotten
something, or wish to send me a photograph of anyone, call 10000 Greeley
and I'll see to it, without fail."
"That's all you'll get on this occasion," laughed Mr. Dalken as James
started to show the young man to the door. But in passing Eleanor,
Dunlap sent her a mental telegram, and she closed one eye significantly.
"Oh--he left his pencils and paper!" exclaimed Eleanor, jumping up
instantly and running with them to the front door.
"Mr. Dunlap--here is your private property that Mr. Fabian had charge
of," was what the guests in the dining-room heard. But to Dunlap she
hurriedly whispered: "I'll 'phone you after I leave here."
Before the party broke up that night, Mrs. Ashby learned that Mrs.
Maynard was an old schoolmate of hers, and expressed a wish that Polly
and Eleanor would visit her again and meet Ruth who was then visiting
friends for Thanksgiving week.
"I really cannot voice my gratitude to all these kind friends," said
Mrs. Wellington, as they stood in the reception hall saying good-night.
"Not only has dear Mr. Dalken turned harsh public condemnation from my
doors, but the story as he told it, actually brings glory to the
school."
"And why should it not, my dear Madam? Have you not fought and struggled
with every girl in your charge, to perfect and express just the
qualities I have given you credit for?" said Mr. Dalken.
"Oh, yes, _I_ have tried so hard, but how many people, or even parents,
would credit me with such endeavors? Once they read it in the papers
they will accept the statement, but it is so hard to impress folks by
actual demonstration," sighed the thankful lady.
"Thank heavens, Mrs. Wellington, that you have a whole day of peace
before you, in which to remember that you have found a group of people,
here, who not only appreciate your efforts but have tried to make others
approve them," said Mrs. Ashby, earnestly.
"Indeed I have! I expect to have the very best of Thanksgivings, due to
all of you dear people. Some day I will be able to show my gratitude for
this." And the lady's voice quavered with emotion.
"And you'll find the story in the papers will not only spare you any
criticism, but actually praise your school," added Mr. Ashby.
"You may be overwhelmed with new scholars," suggested Polly, innocently.
"That's so! I've always heard that discreet publicity is the finest kind
of advertising," Eleanor declared. "This fine tale about your scholars
ought to bring back fifty percent returns."
Everyone laughed heartily at hearing so young a girl talk so
business-like, and Mr. Dalken said: "I am interested to know just where
you got that information?"
"Isn't it true?" demanded Eleanor, turning her bright eyes on him. "You
see, Polly and I are going into business together, pretty soon, and I
have to take notice of all approved methods of winning success. I am to
be the business manager while Polly is the decorator."
The new acquaintances were highly amused at such talk, and Mr. Ashby
laughingly inquired: "What profession have you chosen?"
"Interior decorators. We have started, already; we go to Cooper Union
three nights a week and Mr. Fabian takes us to all the lectures and
exhibitions on any subject that will give us ideas and help."
"Well!" exclaimed Mr. Dalken, finding the girls were really serious.
Mrs. Ashby was deeply interested, but her husband took each of the
prospective decorators by the hand and shaking them cordially, said:
"Let us congratulate each other, for I am already established as a
decorator. I want to help you onward in every possible way, my dear
girls, so call on me whenever you want help. Just as Fabian takes you to
these valuable exhibitions and lectures, so the four of us pulling
together ought to arrive somewhere."
Mr. Fabian was as pleased at the news as either of his protegées, and
they left the Ashbys feeling very much at peace with the world and
everything in it.
As Eleanor ran down the shallow brown-stone steps to the sidewalk, she
turned back and called to Mr. Ashby: "Who knows! We may end by going
into partnership with you, some day!"
He laughed, and said: "Who knows?"