On a certain night in April I was in the sitting-room trying to keep
awake until Alec came home. His train was not due until midnight. I was
awfully anxious to wait up for him, but at ten o'clock I was so sleepy
that I couldn't keep my eyes open another minute. So I went to Father's
roll-top desk and scribbled this on a piece of paper: "_Dear Alec--Be
sure and stop at my room when you come in. Bobbie_," and fastened it
with a wire hairpin on the light that I left burning.
Alec and I were on friendly terms again, and the whole world was
smiling for me. I didn't care if the "For Sale" was still hitting me
in the face every time I entered the yard, since Alec had put me back
in charge of the Household Account. I might have known my cheque-book
wouldn't have lied for me. Alec didn't get around to look into my
bookkeeping until about the first of January, and then he was so
delighted to discover that I hadn't failed in my trust, after all, that
he couldn't reinstate me quickly enough. It was so good to be friends
again, such a relief to have his faith in me restored and made whole,
that I guess he didn't want to risk urging me to explain what I really
wanted the seventy-five dollars for. "I know you'll explain all about
it, sometime," he said. And I replied, "Sometime, Alec." That was the
way our quarrel ended. The next morning I walked to the factory with my
brother; the next evening I sat with him by the drop-light and when he
went to bed I carried to his room some hot milk and crackers so that
he would sleep. Since then we have been nearer to each other than ever
before.
There is something beautiful about our relations. I'd die for Alec. I
don't believe there ever has been a brother and sister more congenial
than Alec and I. I know just how to please him, and he knows better
than any one in this world how to manage me. There isn't a prouder girl
alive than I, when Alec confides his business affairs to me. I do not
understand them very well. Companies and Coöperations, Preferred and
Common Stock, Bonds and Bank-notes are all a perfect jumble in my mind.
But I've learned long ago, that nothing will shut a man up more quickly
than a comment on a girl's part that shows him how ignorant she is.
So now I keep still; listen as hard and closely as I can; sympathise
with my whole heart when Alec is worried, and rejoice with him when
he announces that some Boston bank or other has lent him twenty-five
thousand dollars, although I _am_ frightened to death of borrowing. I
never give my brother a chance to scoff at a girl's comprehension of
business transactions. The result is, he talks to me by the hour, and
thinks I understand a great deal more than I do.
Ever since last Christmas Alec has been running down to New York about
every two weeks. There was a big order that he was trying to secure,
besides some sort of an arrangement he wanted to work up with some rich
men down there to increase the capital stock of the business, I think
he said. I have an idea, though I never asked, that if he could have
worked that arrangement it would have saved the business from peril of
failing. Alec used to stay in New York about three days usually, and
always came home a little more worried, anxious, and discouraged than
when he started.
This time he had been away almost two weeks. I had had only one short
note from him written the day after he left home. Since then I had not
heard from him until his telegram had arrived announcing he would reach
Hilton on the midnight from New York.
It was a cold blustering night for April, and before I went to bed
myself, I went up into Alec's third-floor room, turned on the heat,
filled a hot-water bag and stuck it down between the cold sheets of his
bed.
I must have been sleeping very soundly when Alec stole into my room
at twelve-thirty. I didn't know he was in the house, until I felt his
hand on my shoulder and his gentle, "Hello, Bobbie!" I woke up with a
glad start and found him sitting on the side of my bed. "My, what a
sleeper!" he said and leaned down and kissed my forehead.
I knew from the first whiff that Alec must have been sitting in the
smoking-car (he doesn't smoke himself) and I drew in a fine, long
breath before I spoke.
"Oh, Alec," I exclaimed, "how beautifully New Yorky you smell!"
"Do I, funny Bobbikins?" he laughed at me, and at the sound of that
name which Alec had not called me by for six months, a thrill of new
courage ran through me.
I sat up.
"Alec," I said, "you've brought good news. I _know_ it! I _know_ it! I
knew we couldn't fail. I've felt it all along. I knew Father's dear old
business wouldn't go back on us. I had a feeling that _this_ trip to
New York would be a lucky one."
"I've been farther than New York, Bobbie. I've been to Pinehurst, North
Carolina," Alec announced.
"To Pinehurst! Mercy! Whatever in the world--do tell me _every_ word.
I'm simply crazy to hear all about it."
"Well--" he began. "Say, Bobbikins," he broke off, "would you be very
much surprised to know that it is--all right between Edith and me?"
Alec might as well have struck off on a tangent about George Washington
or Joan of Arc.
"Edith?" I gasped.
"Yes," went on Alec gently; "Edith Campbell. Of course you've known
I've cared for no one else for the last ten years. The business and our
large family have always made it seem rather hopeless. But when I was
in New York I had a common little picture post-card from Edith, who was
at Pinehurst, and your disgraceful old brother here dropped everything
and went down there. I was there for six whole days, and she and her
family and I all came home together to-night after two rather nice
days in New York. She's actually got a ring in a little blue velvet
box which she's going to wear for me a little later, Bobbie." He tried
to say it lightly but his whole voice was exulting. "You see, I had to
come in and tell my partner, didn't I? She would have to know first of
all about such a great piece of news."
He stopped and I sat perfectly silent, stunned for an instant, not
knowing quite what had struck me and knocked me down with my breath
all gone. Alec waited and I tried to jump up, as it were, and speak, so
he would know I wasn't dead.
"Why, Alec Vars!" I managed to gasp, and then the horror of his news
flashed over me. The man I loved best in the whole world had just
told me that he was engaged to be married to a girl whom I abhorred!
I wanted to scream; I wanted to bury my face in my pillow and cry; I
wanted to say, "Oh, go away, go away, Alexander Vars. Leave me alone.
I want to die." But instead I remarked quite calmly, "You engaged? To
Edith Campbell? My goodness, but I'm surprised." And then warned by the
choke in my voice, I switched off into something commonplace. "Say,
would you mind," I said jovially enough, "just removing your hundred
and seventy-five pounds off my left foot there? You're crushing the
bones in it."
Alec leaned forward and kissed me hard.
"You little brick of a Bobbie! I knew you'd take it like a soldier."
I gulped down a disgusting sob.
"But wasn't I the goose," I hurried like mad to say, for I was afraid
I'd break down and bawl like a baby before his very eyes, "wasn't I the
little goose to think it was the business that made you so happy?"
"Oh, the business," Alec announced, "is bound to succeed _now_."
"Sure," I broke in hastily, "just bound to. It's awfully nice, all
around, isn't it? And I--" I floundered on, "I am just--just _pleased_!"
The hall clock struck one. I grasped the blessed sound like a sinking
man.
"Is that twelve-thirty, one, or one-thirty? I haven't the ghost of
an idea," I said lightly. Then desperately, at the breaking point, I
gasped, "Is it cold out?"
Alec patted my hand.
"Brave girl! I understand. But don't you worry. Everything will work
out all right. Now I'll say good-night."
I think Alec must have seen I couldn't hold in much longer. I was,
in fact, using every atom of strength that I possessed to fight that
pushing, shoving, tumbling crowd of lumps and sobs in my throat. Just
as Alec was closing my door I managed to call after him, so that he
might know that I wasn't crying, "Be sure and turn out the lights."
"All right, General-manager."
"And say," I added, "you know I think it's perfectly fine."
"Surely! Good-night."
Then my door closed, and I sank down on my pillow, opened the gates
wide, and let the torrent of sobs rush through.
Can any one realise the torture of my mind during the long dark hours
of that night? I hardly can realise it now, myself. The fact, "ALEC IS
ENGAGED TO EDITH CAMPBELL!" glared at me horribly as if it were printed
in enormous white letters on a black ground, like a big sign on a
factory, and I stared and stared, hypnotised, beyond power of thought.
I was so stunned and overcome by the fact itself that at first I was
unable to comprehend what it would mean to me. I hated Edith Campbell.
All my life I had hated her. She had always treated Alec like the dirt
under her feet--forever flaunting Palm Beach and Poland Springs in
his face and eyes, parading to church every other Sunday with smart
stylish-looking men and planting them down in the pew two rows in front
of ours to show them off.
Of course I had guessed that Alec had liked Edith Campbell. As long
ago as I can remember he used to call on her when she came home from
her fashionable New York boarding-school. Alec invited her to be his
special guest, at his Class-Day, when he graduated from college. But
she elected to go with somebody else, and pranced down there with a
millionaire's son. Poor Alec didn't invite any other girl. I was in
knee skirts then, but I was old enough to hate her for it. Not that I
wanted such a creature to be nice to Alec. I didn't. I knew my brother
was miles too good for her, but I couldn't bear to have such a flashy,
worldly, inferior girl show scorn toward a prince. I never understood
why Alec had admired her. She's absolutely opposite from my brother in
every possible way. She has the most confident, cock-surest manner I
ever witnessed. Her clothes are dreadfully flashy and her father is a
mere upstart who squeezes money out of everybody he knows. Hilton used
to criticise Edith Campbell before it commenced bowing and scraping
to her. When she came home from boarding-school, she let it be known
that her intimate friends lived outside of Hilton. She advertised that
she visited at some of the big places in the Berkshires. She merely
tolerated Hilton and its people.
Oh, I hate her! I never saw why men ran after her so frantically. It
used to make me absolutely sick when the younger girls in Hilton got
the Edith Campbell craze. They used to try to copy everything she wore.
But _I_ didn't. I wouldn't as much as turn my head to look at her. I
was delighted when Alec stopped going to see her. I had thought, when
Alec announced his engagement to me, that that little romance of his
had been dead and buried for five years. It hadn't even worried me.
When I awoke the morning after Alec told me his astonishing news, and
saw the sun shining in a square on the wall opposite me, I lay very
still for a moment. "You've had a horrible dream," I said. "Alec didn't
come home last night. Just a minute, and things will get themselves
fixed." I sat up, but the dream didn't fade. There was the tell-tale
towel with which I had bathed my eyes; there the glass of water; there
the dissipated-looking candle burned down to its very last; here the
confused tossed bed-clothes, and when I staggered to the mirror, there
were my swollen red eyes and awful tangled hair. I dressed slowly, with
a very heavy heart, and unable to cry any more, smiled at myself once
or twice in the glass out of grim spite.
I had not gone to sleep until it had begun to grow light. I remembered
now. And it was nine o'clock when I went downstairs for an attempt at
breakfast. Ruth was devouring eggs when I went into the dining-room.
I had thought she would be at school, but I had forgotten that it was
Saturday. Alec had already gone to the factory. His eggy plate and
half-filled coffee-cup stood at his deserted place.
"My, but you're late," said Ruth, emptying the cream-pitcher into her
coffee. "Say, isn't it corking about Alec? We've been sitting here
hours talking about it. I think it's simply dandy. Just imagine--Edith
Campbell!"
I became very busy fixing my cuff-link, for I was ashamed of my swollen
eyes; but Ruth was sure to see them. She glanced up.
"I might have known you'd take it like that," she broke out, though I
hadn't said a word; "always acting like a thunder-cloud, and throwing
wet blankets on everything. Now why in the world shouldn't Alec get
married?"
"I didn't say he shouldn't," I murmured.
"Well," went on Ruth, "Edith Campbell is _great_. I can't get over
the fact, that with all the men she's known, she likes Alec better
than any of them. She's dreadfully popular. I'll bet she's had a dozen
proposals. Oh, I think Al's done awfully well. The Campbells have piles
of money. I know her younger sister Millicent, and their house beats
anything I ever saw. You ought to see it. And besides, Edith Campbell
is the best-looking thing! She's stunning on a horse."
Ruth always antagonises me when she talks about people she admires.
"_I_ think," I said in a low voice, "that Edith Campbell is common and
loud and vulgar."
"Oh, nonsense!" retorted Ruth. "I'm simply wild about the whole thing.
The Campbells are going to do this tumbledown old ark all over, for a
wedding present, and Al says her father is going to insist on Edith's
bringing her horses with her. I don't call that common or vulgar. I
call it generous!"
"Is she going to live here?" I gasped.
"Of course she is. Where else? And Alec says that you and I will each
have a perfectly lovely room, and divide our time between here and
Tom's. I tell you what, I'm glad for one, that we won't have to live
like pigs any more. Edith Campbell is used to piles of servants!"
I don't know why Ruth's words made me so terribly angry.
"Ruth Chenery Vars," I said, "I hate Edith Campbell, and I'll never
live under the same roof with her. I never will. Do you hear me? I
never will!"
Ruth glanced up and met my fiery eyes.
"Mercy," she said, simply disgusted, "why get so everlasting mad?"
I shoved back my chair and left the table quietly, hurried up the
stairs straight to my disheveled room, and locked the door tight.
My mind was clear now all right; I could comprehend the meaning of
the awful black and white sign _now_, without any difficulty. I was
no goose not to know perfectly well that Alec's engagement meant
that Miss Lucy Vars would be requested to hand in her resignation as
General-manager, Keeper-of-the-Household-Account, Bosser-of-the-meals,
Mother-of-the-family, and oh, too, Partner-of-Alec. Why, I had poured
the coffee at our table ever since the day Father had put me there
in Mother's empty chair. I had always sat there, pushed the bell,
and told the maid to take off the plates for dessert. My place had
always been opposite Father, and after he had gone, Alec had sat
there. Ever since, he and I had held the reins together. There wasn't
a chair nor a rug, nor a table in the house that I hadn't put in
position. There wasn't a pound of sugar, nor a half-dozen oranges
in the pantry that I had not ordered. For five years there hadn't
been a servant engaged by any one but me. Now, suddenly, all such an
arrangement was to be at an end. Ruth was delighted; Alec was supremely
happy; the twins, who worship anything that means more cash, would be
transported with joy. Everybody, in fact, would delight in a change in
administration--everybody but the poor old dethroned ruler, who was
locked in her desolate room trying to find consolation in vigorously
making her bed.
When Alec came home at noon I saw him scanning my impassive face, for I
had not been crying since the night before, and the trace of tears was
gone. After our regular Saturday boiled dinner he asked me to come into
the sitting-room. He closed the doors carefully and sat down beside
me on the couch. I wished he wouldn't take my hand for it was chapped
and red, and of course he had held hers, for which he had bought the
beautiful ring in the little blue velvet box, and hers would be soft
and white. I drew mine away. Alec talked to me gently and told me
about the arrangements. I heard him say with a dull shock, that they
would be married in the early fall. I remember wondering how they had
decided such details in the course of ten days. I soon discovered that
they had managed to go over the whole ground. There seemed to be no
question undecided, no points untouched. Ruth, he said, would start
in at boarding-school in the fall; the twins of course would continue
at college and their vacations would, as usual, be spent at home. He
repeated what I already very well knew that after the twins graduated
they would probably go out West and start into one of Tom's lumber
camps.
"So there'll just be me left," I hurried to say, kind of to help him
out.
"And, of course, _you'll_ live right along here with us," he said,
"except, once in a while, when Tom and Elise want you there with them."
"I'm worse to dispose of than a mother-in-law," I half laughed, sorry
in a moment that I had spoken so, for Alec looked hurt, and exclaimed,
"Oh, Bobbie dear!"
"Oh, I'll try, Alec, I really will," I reassured him, for Alec always
brings out the best in me.
"And go and see Edith very soon?" he said, following me up cruelly.
"She'll be expecting you."
"Oh, yes, I'll try," I murmured, biting my trembling under lip.
"Good girl! I knew I could count on you. You'll like Edith," he said.
"And she wants to be awfully kind to you and Ruth. I know you'll try
and make it easy for her, Bobbie," he added, and left me as cheerfully
as a summer's breeze.
Late that afternoon, about five I think, I started out for a walk in
Buxton's woods, a quarter of a mile back of our house. I hadn't been
gone very long when I heard a step behind me, and turning around I saw,
mounted on her stunning black Kentucky thoroughbred, Edith Campbell,
coming toward me. I wanted to run away, to hide perhaps behind a tree
and let her pass, but I couldn't for she had caught sight of me.
"Hold on," she called. "Wait a minute," and she drew up beside me.
"Hello, Lucy," she said in her familiar, breezy way. "Now isn't this
luck?" Her dark, crisp hair was neat and firm beneath the little black
derby--an affectation in dress that no one wears riding in Hilton
except Edith Campbell. She didn't have them on to-day, but usually she
wears long green drop-earrings, screwed on, I think--too New Yorky for
anything. "Wait a jiffy," she laughed, "and I'll walk along with you.
Pierre here, can mosey along behind." She sprang down from her saddle
like a sporty horse-woman, came up and thrust out a gauntlet-gloved
hand to me. She gave me a Hercules grip. "Has Al told you?" she asked,
plunging straight ahead, with no delicacy.
"Yes, he has," I stammered, "and--I congratulate you both," I finished
desperately.
It did sound stiff and formal and schoolgirlish, but I was angry
with Edith Campbell when she laughed at me and exclaimed, "You funny
old-fashioned child!"
She arranged one pair of reins over her horse's neck and used the other
pair for a lead, slipping her arm through the loop.
"Come on now, let's walk," she said and put her free arm through mine,
a familiarity from the wonderful Edith Campbell for which even sensible
Juliet would envy me. _I_ wanted to edge away from her. "Alec," she
went on, "thinks the world and all of you, Bobbie," (as if she had to
inform me!) "and I want you to know right off, you won't be losing a
brother, simply gaining a sister." (Usual, meaningless words! As if
Ruth wasn't more than enough anyhow.) "And another thing," she ploughed
ahead, "there will always be a room in our house for Bobbie. One of the
things I told Alec was that he must look out for his sisters."
"Alec would do that anyway," I said.
"Of course. Nice old Al! He's as good as gold."
I couldn't bear her patronising manner. She has always treated Alec
like that, just because she had money and he had nothing but goodness.
I turned to her seriously.
"Miss Campbell," I asked, "how did you come to want to marry Alec?"
"You amusing chicken!" she laughed, then pinching me disgustingly on
the arm, she added in a sly way, "You wait, you'll know when the right
one comes."
I flushed but held my peace.
"I was only wondering," I said. "Alec has so little money, and you--I
mean our business--our success is so uncertain."
"Alec is bound to succeed _now_," she replied in her cock-sure way. "I
told Al there was no such word in my vocabulary as failure. Besides
_Father_ is going to look into the business, and Father never touched a
thing that wasn't successful."
"Your father!" I gasped with the colour again in my face. Her father
used to collect junk-iron. "Our business!"
"Oh, come, come. Just like Al at first. This Vars pride! Don't you see,
my dear, that, independent of weddings, a man can put a little life
into a dead business if he wants to?"
"My father's business isn't dead," I exclaimed, now filled with
indignation.
"Oh, come, Bobbikins!"
"Don't call me that, please," I said and drew away my arm.
"Tut, tut! Come now! You and I are going to be friends." She treated
me as if I were aged five. "You know," she went on, "when I come, I
think there'll be an extra saddle horse, in one of the stalls in your
stable." She used that mysterious tone you do to children when talking
about Santa Claus. "I think if you will look very hard you will find
your initials on him somewhere, Bobbie."
"I wouldn't touch it, Miss Campbell. I wouldn't touch one hair of the
horse; and please call me Lucy."
We were breaking out of the narrow wood-path, and coming to a travelled
road. We walked in silence till we reached the highway. It was almost
dark. Suddenly Edith Campbell spoke.
"I must be hustling homeward," she said glibly, and as if nothing
unpleasant had occurred between us she asked, "Lend me your hand, will
you, Bobbie, please?"
I helped her mount, in silence.
"That's the way," she said. "Thanks. Now look here, poor little
childie," she broke off, looking down at me like a queen from her
saddle, "whenever you're ready to be friends, remember, so am I. All
right, Pierre!" and she cantered off in the dusk.
I stood quite still for a moment, and then right to that lonely, empty
road, I said out loud, "I can't live with her. I can't--I can't! Dear
Alec, I tried. Dear Father and Tom and Elise, I tried, but I can't, I
can't!" And all the dark way home, all the long night through, I ran
over and over the words like a squirrel in a revolving cage.