The roses kept for more than two weeks, filling the Studio rooms with
fragrance, but keeping their secret as to who had sent them to Polly.
She had gone to everyone she knew and tried to find out who had given
them to her. Then she beguiled Mr. Ashby into finding out if Mr. Dalken
was the guilty one. And when he was found innocent, she bribed Mr.
Dalken to find out if the Latimers or the Evans sent them--but she could
not see why anyone should spend so much money on her, and try to hide
the fact.
When Mr. Fabian was satisfied that it was not one of their old friends
who had sent the roses, he thought of a way to find out. The box had had
the name on its cover, of one of Fifth avenue's most fashionable
florists, so he went there and tried to learn what he wanted to know, by
asking the proprietor.
But the man smiled and shook his head. "We are never allowed to divulge
state secrets, Mr. Fabian."
"Not even when that secret concerns a protegée of mine? I do not wish to
use the knowledge, but merely to relieve my mind."
"If I were to tell you, Mr. Fabian, I should have to also tell the six
other individuals who begged me to tell them confidentially who ordered
the roses."
"Six others! Have others been here to ask this same question?" asked Mr.
Fabian, amazed.
The florist laughed. "Yes, that pretty miss seems to be very popular.
Who is she, anyway?"
"A little girl that attends my art class, and I am bound to keep her
mind free from nonsense until her education is finished."
"Can you keep a secret--on your oath?" asked the florist.
"Yes, yes!" eagerly agreed Mr. Fabian, thinking he was now going to hear
who sent the roses.
"Well, then, this much I may tell you--just to ease your fears: the
individual who sent those roses is as anxious as you can be, to keep the
girl's heart and mind free from nonsense and to allow her to complete
her art education without thoughts of beaux."
"Is that all you've got to say?"
"My goodness, don't you appreciate that much! You only wanted to know
something to ease your mind, and now I have told you."
"How do _you_ know what the gentleman thinks or wants?"
"I was told so by the one who ordered the roses. But I did not tell you
it was a gentleman."
This was still more disconcerting to Mr. Fabian, but he never told a
soul that he had visited the florist. He did wonder, however, if the man
had given the others the same confidence he had imparted confidentially
to him.
Polly, the cause of all this secret concern of her friends, had
forgotten all about the valentine, and was devoting her entire time and
attention to the absorbing lessons at art school.
Easter Week came early, and the term beginning immediately after the
Easter Holidays, would start a course on mural decorations, and the
study of tapestries. So interesting had their night-classes become, that
Polly and Eleanor neglected their studies at day-school. Anne noticed
their daily marks and worried over it. At last she consulted with Mr.
Fabian.
"You must realize, Mr. Fabian, that the girls are still young. Even if
they were prepared to enter the profession they are proposing to follow
they would be too young in years to make a success of it. People are not
apt to turn over contracts for art or decorating, to girls under twenty.
Therefore I advise you to make them drop their night school until after
they have caught up in their day classes."
Mr. Fabian was secretly pleased at the news that his two pet scholars
preferred _his_ teachings to the dry high-school lessons. But he dared
not express his satisfaction to Anne.
"All you say is true, but there is no need for my girls to give up their
art class. The night school closes for a two weeks' holiday at Easter,
and then, as warm weather comes on apace, I find my pupils begin to lose
zeal in their constant attendance at class. You will see that Polly and
Eleanor will turn more to their day studies, then. But I would not
advise you to cut off their pursuit in art work, now. It will only
create deeper zest for it, and turn their thoughts completely from
day-studies."
Anne replied that this was logical, and so the girls never knew that
they had been standing upon the danger-line of having to suspend their
favorite studies.
Mr. Fabian was roused to a more temperate art "diet" for the two girls,
thereafter. And Polly and Eleanor found, as Spring advanced, that
lessons in night school were simpler and not quite so absorbing to their
time, as those of the recent weeks had been.
In the mural decoration study that began with the new Spring term, the
pupils found that, beginning with the order of antiquity, Egyptian
first, and then Greek, Roman, Medieval, Moresque and Persian
styles--much of their work done in the other classes now proved useful.
In fact, the historical studies of these races of people and their
periods of time, proved valuable in review, for the further perfection
of mural art.
So when they were given a design to do in "wave ornament" it was at once
recognised as Egyptian art. Or should a wall decoration be required
where geometrical forms were the principle, the pupils remembered the
religion of the Arabs and Moors which restricted them to the use of
natural forms which would not conflict with their worship.
Thus Polly and Eleanor began to understand how important their previous
lessons had been, and how necessary it was for every earnest student of
art to be present at each class, that no connecting link in instruction
might be dropped and lost.
As the weeks went by, and the end of the term drew near, the night
classes thinned out perceptibly, many of the less enthusiastic pupils
preferring outdoor sports to close application to art pursuits. But
Polly and Eleanor found their pleasure in hearing all Mr. Fabian had to
say to them on various subjects.
Perhaps the girls might not have been so keen for school during the warm
evenings, had not Mr. Fabian's knowledge and fascinating descriptions of
anything pertaining to his profession, been so freely given them at all
times. He continued to discover exhibits, lectures, and other
educational pastimes, to which he conducted his favorite pupils, so that
there was no dearth of material to aid and demonstrate his teachings.
As June came in, Polly found New York not nearly as cool and pleasant an
abode as Pebbly Pit with its altitude upon the crests of the Rockies.
And she longed for a breath of the mountain air that would renew jaded
senses. Both Eleanor and Polly began to show the strain of the close
application to study that they had had since October, so Anne was
thankful that the schools would soon close for the Summer.
Then the last class in Cooper Union ended, and Mr. Fabian escorted his
girls to their home. Already, they were planning for the coming year of
work, but their instructor smiled and interrupted.
"I have refused an offer to continue my classes in the school, so I will
not be there next year."
"What!" gasped Polly.
"Not teach us!" cried Eleanor.
"Not teach at Cooper--no. I feel that I am not strong enough to keep up
such arduous labors; and so many there do not seem to appreciate what I
am sacrificing for them. I find there are some people who think that,
because a thing is free, it is not as valuable as if they had to pay for
it. You can see, for yourselves, how many scholars dropped out of the
classes when other diversions offered themselves. They join an art class
and attend it when nothing else can be had. They take my thought and
time, and when they weary of the routine, they fail to appear. It is
very disheartening. But it is so every year, and I am tired of trying to
keep up the interest of such lazy leeches."
Polly and Eleanor heard their dear professor's words in sorry silence.
What would night school be without him?
"But I have planned a far different school beginning with next October.
I have chosen the faithful few who really mean business, and to these I
shall offer my services for a small return. I feel sure that this will
mean greater benefit to individuals in a small class, as I can devote
much more time to each student and give better advice wherever it is
needed. I have thought of seven scholars for my little school."
"Oh, Mr. Fabian--I do hope Polly and I are among them!" exclaimed
Eleanor, anxiously.
Mr. Fabian smiled. "Perhaps it was because of Polly and you that I
thought of this idea. You two girls really should have personal
instruction, instead of having to waste hours in a general class waiting
for delinquents to catch up with you.
"That has always been the weak spot in any large class; there are those
who forge ahead eagerly, and the lazy ones who miss a class every few
nights, causing the whole body to delay and wait while they work to
catch up on what they have missed.
"When the few ambitious workers can be grouped together and not hampered
by the leeches, one can readily see how much better it is for all
concerned. This is what I propose doing."
"Oh, it will be splendid! and I am glad, for one, to be able to look
forward to such teachings. To know that we can ask all the questions
freely, and not have to wait to have the easiest lesson explained to the
thick-headed, will be a great relief," said Polly, gratefully.
At the door of the Studio, Mr. Fabian said good-by. "I am planning to
sail for Europe very soon, my dears, and I am looking forward to a good
time with my little family. We intend visiting all the famous places of
interest to an artist, and when I return in the Fall, I will be able to
tell you about the great cathedrals, the wonderful collections of
antiques, and other sights."
"As for Polly and me--we won't be able to give you any such tales, as we
are going to spend our vacation at Pebbly Pit, again. But we will bring
back plenty of health and renewed zeal," laughed Eleanor.
"Ah! That is what I need of you now, children. See that you fill out the
hollows in your cheeks, and gather ample strength and health for another
strenuous year in New York. I plan to put both of you on the firing-line
next school-year."
"We'll not fail you, Mr. Fabian," promised Polly, taking his hand a
second time and patting it fondly.
"Then I'll not fail _you_, dear students!" responded Mr. Fabian,
stooping and kissing each girl affectionately on the forehead, then
taking his leave.
A few days after this the Studio was swathed in dust-covers, the windows
locked and shuttered, the burglar alarm attached, and at last the front
door was closed by a representative from the insurance company. The four
tenants were on their way to Grand Central where Jim Latimer and Kenneth
Evans were to meet them. They then were going to take the Twentieth
Century Limited to Chicago.
Jim and Ken had been engaged by Carew, to join his camp of surveyors in
the mountains for this second season's work; and, as Polly and her
friends were to spend the summer vacation at Pebbly Pit, it was quite
natural that all six should journey westward, together.
Mr. Dalken and the Ashbys came to see the friends off, and as the parent
Latimers and Evans were with their boys to the last, there was a large
merry party to accompany the travelers to the Pullman.
"Don't be surprised to see me bring the Ashbys to Pebbly Pit in my
touring car, some fine day, soon," announced Mr. Dalken.
"Oh, that would be lovely!" cried Polly, eagerly.
"And leave Ruth with us for the Summer?" added Eleanor.
"Yes, yes, Daddy--I'd love to spend my vacation with Polly and Eleanor
at the ranch!" exclaimed Ruth Ashby.
"Where would you put us all--even if we did come?" asked Mrs. Ashby, who
had heard of the limitations of the ranch-house.
"Oh, you forget! John writes that we will be surprised to find the
marvelous work that has gone on at the Cliffs. Not only is the great
road down through the Devil's Causeway completed for heavy traffic, but
rows and rows of buildings back of the Imps are ready for occupancy, the
moment the machinery is set up for work on the lava. If the miners have
not yet taken possession of the barracks we could invite loads of people
to visit the ranch."
Polly spoke eagerly, and her eyes shone as she beheld her friends
enjoying the Brewster hospitality.
Everyone laughed at her anxiety to have them visit her, and Mr. Dalken
promised: "I'll do my best to bring my friends, Polly."
A quizzical look in his eyes suddenly caused Polly to remember the
valentine she had sent him. She smiled back at him, but as suddenly
another thought flashed into her mind.
"Oh, Mr. Dalken, I've wanted to ask you for the _longest_ time! Now that
it is ancient history, you won't mind confessing, will you?"
Mr. Dalken shook his head as a concession to her eager look. And Polly
continued: "_Did_ you send me those American Beauties' valentine?"
A roar greeted this question, as everyone of the grown-ups had asked the
same question of Mr. Dalken months before. And Mr. Dalken not only
repudiated any knowledge of the valentine but told how he had visited
the florist and had not been able to ascertain who the Cupid really was.
"Polly, I will confess, as they say that open confession is good for the
soul. I was guilty of sending four boxes of flowers to the Studio on
Valentine Day, to four charming friends, but I showed no partiality, I
think, in the bouquets. I would like to know, myself, who the Cupid was
who sent such gorgeous roses as you received."
"I wonder! I'm sure it wasn't Jim," here Polly looked searchingly at the
young student, and he shook his head laughingly.
"I couldn't have, had I wanted to. My pocket money went for that
love-sonnet that was so harshly condemned," said he.
"And I'm sure Ken never dreamed of doing it. Then there is Mr. Latimer
and the doctor--they are both innocent, I know, as they never think of
anything other than the old patented jewel cutter."
As Polly explained thus in earnest tones, everyone laughed at the two
men so calmly criticised for their absorption in patents.
"So I am inclined to believe it was my _own_ Daddy. He always did send
me the cutest valentines each year, and I received no card from him this
year--so that is who it was!" declared Polly.
"And the only kind of a Cupid to have, these days, Polly," approved Mr.
Dalken.
But the happy circle standing on the platform of the train-shed were now
notified that the passengers must get on as the train would leave in a
few moments.
Good-bys were said, hands shaken, kisses wafted from the girls to the
group remaining in New York, and then the travelers were gone.
Scarcely had the train slowed up in the Chicago Terminal before John and
Tom Latimer were on board, pushing a way through the Pullmans, in search
of familiar faces.
"There they are--there comes John!" cried Polly, excitedly, jumping up
and pointing to the other end of the coach.
"Oh--!" sighed Anne, flushing joyously as her glance rested upon her
fiancé.
But John had no eyes for anyone but Anne. Polly was left standing with
hands out-stretched, her whole soul quivering with anticipation of her
beloved brother's greeting, and now he forgot she was alive! Then Paul
Stewart and Pete Maynard ran in.
Mrs. Stewart was embraced by Paul, and Pete hugged his sister Eleanor.
Tom Latimer stood a pace apart, his features working desperately to
control his feelings as he saw John joyously scanning Anne's face, and
Polly limply sitting down in the parlor chair. Then he quickly went over
and greeted her.
"Polly, and you boys"--turning to Jim and Kenneth--"we sure are happy to
see you-all again. My, what a change New York has made in you. I see
quite a wonderful young lady, where once I remember my little ranch pal
with pigtails." Tom tried to laugh merrily.
Kenneth suddenly launched into a silly conversation to cheer Polly. But
Polly never could dissimulate, and she was too deeply hurt at her
brother's neglect to pretend to be merry. John, however, now turned to
embrace and kiss his sister, and evidently had had no thought of
neglecting her.
"Come, children, we must get out or we'll be carried to the
round-house," suggested Jim Latimer, taking up certain bags.
Once on the platform where Mr. Maynard welcomed them, Tom said: "When do
Ken and you go on to Denver?"
"On the next train, leaving here at two. That gives us an hour and a
half with you."
"Anyone want dinner, or did you eat on the train?" now asked Paul
Stewart.
"All dined, but now waiting for someone to suggest a party for Ken and
I, as we go on in a little while," said Jim.
"Here!" offered Mr. Maynard. "Pile into taxis and we'll be at the house
in a jiffy. No place like home when there's no other place to go to."
So, laughing, the entire party bundled itself into cabs, John managing
to get Anne and her luggage to himself. Immediately, he signalled the
driver to start off.
Mr. Maynard, Paul and Mrs. Stewart got in another cab and Jim, Ken, and
Eleanor in another. That left Polly and Tom Latimer, with the remaining
bags, to get in the last taxi. It was all done in such noisy confusion,
that no one dreamed how one clever manager had so manipulated matters as
to have Polly alone in the last cab.
"Well, Polly, I hear you are soaring in your ambition. Mr. Fabian wrote
me how interested he was in Nolla and you."
"Oh, did the dear man write you? I didn't know he and you corresponded."
"I took a great fancy to the idealist, and having always loved art for
itself, I told him I would consider it a great pleasure if he would
exchange letters with me when he had the opportunity. He has done better
for me than I had any right to expect. He writes the most interesting
letters--just as clever as his talks on art."
Having found a willing listener in Tom, Polly expanded on her private
opinion of such a wonderful teacher as Mr. Fabian was, and before the
taxi drew up in front of the Maynard's brown-stone mansion, Tom had the
comforting assurance that Polly had quite forgotten her brother John's
unintentional neglect.
Jim and Ken enjoyed their hasty visit and then took their departure to
catch their train going west. When Mrs. Maynard and Barbara dispensed
tea, the three young men, John, Tom and Paul, had to enter into service
for the hostess; but they would greatly have preferred to enjoy their
time as each inclined--John alone with Anne in the conservatory, Tom and
Polly talking art, and Paul making merry with Eleanor.
Barbara, who a year ago would have resented oblivion for herself, now
smiled contentedly and gazed upon a huge solitaire.
"Bob, shall we announce it?" whispered her mother.
"No, they do not know Percival, and, moreover, not one of these people
appreciate his social standing."
So the young people now gathered about Mrs. Maynard's tea-table were
deprived (so Bob thought) of the greatest event of the past social
season--her engagement to one of the most aristocratic and wealthiest
eligibles on the market, Percival Weston.
Barbara twirled her solitaire smilingly, nor cared that her Percival was
bald and diminutive, past the prime in life, and not over-brilliant. Had
he not been the catch at Newport the previous Summer? And had he not
attached himself to her as soon as she appeared in the Adirondack Camp
presided over by the famous society leader of New York?