THE PROGRESS OF ROMANCE
WHEN Babe and Betty joined the others, they found them still
talking about Mr. Trevelyan.
“Do you think now that he’s an authority on sheep-raising in
Australia?” inquired Babe blandly of John.
John flushed a little. “No, I don’t believe I care to use his letters
of introduction.” He produced a bulky packet. “His friends would
probably give me the same sort of send-off that he gave Billy. I
suppose Billy told you that I’d consulted him about chances out there,”
John added, looking inquiringly around the circle.
“But you weren’t serious about going, were you?” demanded Madeline
incredulously.
“I certainly was,” returned John in his stiffest manner, and Babe’s
little proud face hardened. He wasn’t sorry that he had been
disagreeable; he was just giving up Australia because Mr. Trevelyan
had proved unreliable.
After breakfast Mr. Dwight suggested that they should all go and
inspect the Pantheon, which was so near by that the girls, thinking
they could go there “any time,” hadn’t yet been to see it. As they
started off across the court Mr. Dwight happened to engage Betty’s
attention, and Madeline and Babbie marched off arm in arm, leaving Babe
and John together.
But--“Here, Babbie,” Babe called after her, “you’re forgetting to take
care of your property. Ghosts are your dominant interest, and John is a
ghost. Therefore you ought to look after him, Q. E. D.”
“Don’t you want to change interests with me?” asked Babbie demurely.
“You’ve been going to get a new one all summer in place of your
inaccessible chimney-pots.”
“Thank you,” said Babe coolly, “but I don’t want a second-hand
interest. If I change, it will be for something that nobody else has
tried. Come on, Madeline.”
John accepted Babe’s prompt solution of their difficulties, and in
the rôle of “Babbie’s tame Parisian ghost”--it was Madeline’s name,
of course--coöperated with Babe and Betty to avoid embarrassing
tête-à-têtes. Madeline and Babbie on the other hand, objected
strenuously to Betty’s enrolling herself in Babe’s faction.
“I suppose she’s told you all about it,” Babbie said dolefully, “and
made you promise to help her. She won’t tell me a thing, but I can see
for myself that in spite of her trying to appear so gay and lively,
she’s worried and nervous and growing thin. Just because you discovered
that match-making won’t work you needn’t try the other thing.”
“I’m only keeping her good natured,” explained Betty laughingly. “She
told me a little, but she left out all the important points, just as
people in love always do. She doesn’t know what she wants, and John
doesn’t. Something will turn up before long, I hope, to help them
decide.”
“Of course it will,” agreed Madeline easily, “and meanwhile all Paris
is before us. Where shall we go to-day?”
“Let’s leave it to the man from Cook’s,” suggested Betty.
“Victor Hugo’s house, then,” announced Madeline promptly. “John
particularly wants to go there.”
But John had promised to meet a college friend that afternoon, and Mr.
Dwight was busy, so the four girls and Mrs. Hildreth went off alone.
When they got back John was in the garden with a formidable collection
of railway guides and Baedekers piled on a green table before him.
“Have to be in Antwerp to-morrow at ten,” he explained impressively,
and handed Mrs. Hildreth a telegram.
“If you can really speak Dutch and French decently,” it read, “meet me
Antwerp, hotel St. Antoine, ten Thursday morning. J. J. Morton.”
“I can’t imagine what he wants of me,” John went on, trying to be
perfectly matter of fact, “and I’m dead sure that my Dutch and French
won’t suit him, but there’s nothing like trying, so I shall go. See
here, which one of you told the governor that I could speak Dutch and
French?”
“I did,” Betty confessed, timidly. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Oh, not at all,” said John, who was evidently trying not to appear
obnoxiously elated. “The thing I don’t understand is why he believed
you. You must have an awful lot of influence with him to make him
think that I can do anything. Will you lend me your precious French
dictionary for the trip?”
Betty promised and went off to find the book, while the other girls
said good-bye, and wished John a successful journey. The telegram,
it seemed, had come before he went out for the afternoon, and he had
looked up trains and packed, and was starting in a few minutes more for
the station.
When Babe got up-stairs, Betty was waiting to waylay her. “I don’t see
how I was so stupid,” she said, “but my collar stuck into me and it
hurt so while I burrowed around in my trunk tray for my dictionary,
that I took it off. Would you mind carrying this to John? I’m afraid
he’s in a hurry.”
Babe eyed her suspiciously. “I never knew you to be so absent-minded,”
she said.
“If you don’t want to go back, I can ask Madeline.” Betty started
toward the door, but Babe reached out a hand for the little dictionary.
“I can go as well as not,” she said, and hurried off.
“Say good-bye to him for me,” Betty called after her, and after a
discreet interval went off to find Madeline and Babbie and tell them
what she had done.
Meanwhile Babe had delivered the dictionary, with explanations, and
said good-bye again.
“You’ll be back soon, of course?” she asked, and in spite of all her
efforts there was a little quiver of eagerness in her voice.
“I can’t be sure.” John looked at her hard and held out his hand.
“I say, Babe, let’s shake and be friends--real friends, not friends
for show, as we have been lately. I was a goose about the Australian
business. Even if Trevelyan had been all right, it was a wildcat
scheme. I don’t know what my father wants of me, but I’m hoping
it’s help with a business deal of some kind. That will give me an
opportunity to show him that I’m not quite so no-account as he thinks,
and maybe he’ll give me a good chance next year, if he won’t this. If
I should make good with him, will you reconsider?”
Babe put her small brown hand into John’s big one. “I’d--well, I’d
consider reconsidering, I think,” she said slowly. “Remember, I
don’t promise anything but that, and--come back as soon as you can.
Good-bye.” Babe dashed across the garden and up-stairs like a whirlwind.
John was gone three days. The girls spent most of the time in hunting
a present for Bob. “Some queer old thing that looks as if it came from
Europe” sounded easy enough to find, and it was--too easy; so that each
girl had her own pet idea and couldn’t bear to give it up. Finally,
Madeline suggested drawing lots.
“Each fix a piece of cake for Virginie. Put the four in a row, and the
one whose piece Virginie gobbles up first can have the say about the
present.”
All but Babe were satisfied to save a bit of the cake they had for
luncheon. Babe, who evidently understood Virginie’s tastes, went out to
a bakery near by and brought back a beautiful little frosted cake with
a cherry on top. And Virginie made straight for the cherry.
Mademoiselle happened to come through the garden just then, and
Babe, who was beginning to be as proud of her French as Betty had
been, rushed up to her triumphantly and announced, “Nous avons mangé
Virginie.”
Mademoiselle looked horrified and amazed until Babe pointed out the
family pet and the row of cake crumbs. “Avec gateaux,” she added
pleasantly.
Mademoiselle mildly suggested that they had “given Virginie to eat of
cake,” and Madeline asked Babe how Virginie tasted.
“I don’t care,” said Babe sturdily, when she had seen her mistake.
“I eat; I feed. It’s exactly the same thing. I eat Virginie; I feed
Virginie. Well, that isn’t, is it? Anyhow I know how to feed a
turtle if I don’t know how to talk about it. Now come and buy Bob’s
candlesticks.”
But while Madeline and Babbie were bargaining with the shop-keeper for
the pair of candlesticks that Babe had chosen, Betty, poking about
in a dark corner, discovered a queer thing that Madeline told her
was a Flemish lamp; and everybody liked it so much better than the
candlesticks that Babe renounced the privilege of choosing and joined
the unanimous movement in favor of the Flemish lamp. Then everybody
wanted one for herself, and the afternoon sped away in the pursuit,
for no antique store boasted many of the lamps. There was a great
difference in the gracefulness of the tall standards and the quaintness
of the small hanging lamps, and each girl insisted upon being exactly
suited before she made her choice.
“A perfect nuisance to pack,” laughed Betty on the way home, “and
absolutely useless. I can just hear Will say it.”
“Not half so bad to pack as the flossy hats you girls have been buying;
they are warranted not to break, and will make excellent substitutes
for hammers,” Madeline defended their purchases. “Let’s take them into
the garden and see how they look all together.”
Arranged on two little tables, the five lamps looked so imposing that
Mrs. Hildreth had to be called down to inspect them and admire the
“points” of each, as its fond owner dilated upon them.
In the midst of the “show,” as Babbie called it, John appeared. His
greetings were so subdued and formal that no one dared inquire about
his trip until Betty broke the ice by asking if any one had mistaken
him for a Dutchman again.
“Not quite,” said John modestly. “I guess you are the only ones who
ever did that; but my Dutch was all right and so was my French. You
should have seen my father stare.”
After that it was easy to see that, as Madeline put it, he was wearing
the air of the conquering hero, decently disguised. Mr. Morton had sent
boxes of hopje, which is a delicious kind of Dutch candy that can be
bought nowhere but at the Hague, to Betty and Babe, and they all sat in
the garden eating it while John told his story.
“Dad says he’s felt all right ever since the day he disobeyed all his
doctor’s orders at once down in Saint Malo, so he’s kept on disobeying
them ever since. He had a big business deal on at Antwerp--buying
an interest in a steamship line was the principal part--and as he
wanted to buy straight from the men who owned the line he needed an
interpreter that he could trust. So he cabled home, but the man he
wanted was off on a fishing trip and missed the boat.” John chuckled.
“I’m afraid he’ll pay pretty high for those fish. Then, having implicit
confidence in Miss Wales’s judgment, he sent for me.” He looked at
Betty. “You’ve been ‘Miss B. A.,’ as dad calls you, to me this trip,
I can tell you. It’s been all my fault, I know, the way my father has
felt about me, and I don’t blame him for not believing that I’ve braced
up. Now that he does believe it, you can be sure I shan’t give him
the faintest excuse for changing his mind. He’s a brick, when he gets
started.” John stopped to laugh at his absurdly mixed metaphor.
The girls drifted away with their precious Flemish lamps, and this time
Babe made no pretence of not wishing to be the last to go.
“Well, I’ve made good,” said John when they two were alone, “and if my
father insists upon it I shall go back to college and do my best to
make good there, too. Will you wait for me, Babe?”
Babe flushed and gasped. “I thought you’d talk about your trip awhile
first. I haven’t decided. It’s so much more serious somehow, now that
I’ve had time to think it over longer. Let’s just be friends for
awhile, and I guess I can decide before very long. Don’t ask me again
till I say you may.”
It was now that Madeline’s pension developed a new advantage. The
garden was certainly an ideal one for promoting a romance. John was
always down early for breakfast. Mr. Dwight considerately came very
late. Betty and Madeline, when they were ready, peeped surreptitiously
out between the magnolia branches, and if John hadn’t come or was still
alone they went down, ate hastily, and found it absolutely necessary
to go up-stairs again at once. If Babe had joined him--of course Babe
never, never peeped nowadays--they loitered in Babbie’s room until
the two in the garden had had ample time for a leisurely tête-à-tête.
Before and after dinner the garden was the favorite loitering place,
and then again there were chances for judicious management. But the
days sped by, and still Babe hesitated. One afternoon she had an
inspiration.
“Maxim for travelers: ‘When in doubt drink afternoon tea.’ I’m
certainly in doubt, and we haven’t had a real tea-drinking for ages.”
She was dressing for dinner, so she slipped on a kimono and made a dash
through the hall to Madeline’s room.
“I think we ought to have a tea-drinking,” she announced. “Can’t we,
to-morrow afternoon?”
Madeline nodded. “It’s a queer coincidence that I’ve just heard of
the most fascinating tea place. Also I had decided to make you girls
give me a going-away party there to-morrow. I simply must be off for
Sorrento.”
“Is it a real tea place?” Babe inquired anxiously. “I insist upon tea
this time--not lemonade or ices.”
“Since when have you gotten so fond of tea?” asked Madeline curiously.
“In England you always fussed----”
“We haven’t had it so much lately,” explained Babe, and departed in
haste to finish dressing.
“And I never told her I was sorry she was going,” she reflected as she
brushed her hair. “Oh, dear, it’s dreadful to have something on your
mind!”
Madeline refused to give her hostesses much idea of “the most
fascinating tea place.”
“I’ve never been there,” she said, “but the woman who sits next me
at dinner said it was awfully jolly. It’s out at Robinson, a little
suburban place. There are cafés in the trees, and you climb up as high
as you like among the branches and enjoy the prospect and the tea.”
“But mother could never climb up in a tree,” protested Babbie.
“You don’t climb trees,” explained Madeline placidly. “You climb stairs
to little landings built among the branches, just like the ‘Swiss
Family Robinson’ house. That’s what gives the place its name.”
The Robinson party, which as a matter of course included John and
Mr. Dwight, started out the next afternoon in high spirits. A short
train ride brought them to Robinson, where they found a feature that
Madeline’s informant had not mentioned--sleepy little donkeys waiting
to carry them up the hill to the tree-top cafés. To be sure Madeline
and Mr. Dwight, in their eagerness to secure the top story of the very
tallest trees for the party, abandoned their donkeys half-way up and
went ahead on foot, with the result that they discovered it to be a
very hot day, much more suitable for lemonade than for tea.
“But we’re giving you a tea-drinking,” objected Babe, when they
were seated around the table on the top platform, with the green of
the trees to shelter them from the western sun and yet not hide the
wonderful view of Paris and the country between. “I shall have tea
anyway.”
“Have it iced,” suggested John, but Babe shook her head.
“Regular tea,” she insisted.
“Then you can have lemonade to cool off on later,” put in Betty. “You
know somebody has got to have a second course, so we can have something
to pull up in the basket. The first time you order, the waiter comes
up; but the second time he puts the things in a basket, and we pull. I
speak to do the pulling.”
“Why can’t we start this kind of tea-room in New York, Madeline?” asked
Babbie eagerly. “A three-story tea-room is even nicer than a two-story
tram. And the basket is a beautiful feature. People would just flock to
see it work.” She pulled it up herself by way of illustration.
“Be sure to have strawberry tarts on the menu, and I’ll flock for one,”
said Mr. Dwight, helping himself to another of the tarts in question.
“Things are more expensive in New York,” Madeline warned him. “You
won’t be able to afford ten tarts, even if you are ravenously hungry.”
“You could call it the Peter Pan Tea-Rooms,” put in Betty. “It’s
exactly like the last scene in the play, except that there aren’t any
fairies.”
“You can’t ever be sure of that, you know, Miss Wales,” Mr. Dwight took
her up.
Babe listened absently to all the idle chatter, drinking her hot tea
conscientiously and thinking hard. And because she was serious and
silent John was also, trying to guess at her thoughts.
“The best way to tell whether you want a thing is to think how you
would feel to have to get along without it all your life.” Babe came
out of her brown study to hear Madeline saying it. She gave a little
start, caught Betty’s eye fixed upon her as much as to say, “Listen to
that now,” and blushed furiously; then she looked at John and blushed
hotter still.
“What in the world are you all talking about?” she demanded. “I was
thinking of something else.”
“Babbie’s elegant new clothes,” explained Madeline coolly, “and my
philosophy of clothes, which is not to bother with them.”
Babe jumped up. “I want to see the view from the story below this,
don’t you, John? The trees are cut away more down there.”
John murmured something about being rather tired of sitting still and
followed her.
“Chaperon’s cue is to descend to lower story,” laughed Mr. Dwight; but
Mrs. Hildreth decided that in this case the chaperon would better stay
where she was.
The two were back in five minutes, enthusiastic over their view.
“I’m ready for my lemonade now,” announced Babe gaily.
“I’m going to have another glass, too,” added John. “You must all have
another. Babe and I want you to drink a toast.”
Which is how Madeline’s going-away party was suddenly transformed into
Babe’s announcement party--not one bit fair, Madeline said, but amusing
enough to make up. Anyway Babe always declared that Madeline said what
she did on purpose and that Betty coughed to attract her attention to
it.
“And I knew I didn’t want to do without John all my life,” she said,
“and making up your mind is such a bother that I wanted to have it all
over with. Whenever I’m in doubt again I shall drink afternoon tea.”