AN AFTERNOON CALL
DOLLY worried a good deal over her teacher’s illness, and when Miss
Partland was not at school the next day, she decided to go to see her,
on the way home. The boys tried to dissuade her, but Dolly was firm.
“No use trying to steer off Dolly Fayre, if she’s made up her mind,”
said Lollie Henry. “If she has a bee in her bonnet, she sticks to it
like a puppy to a root.”
They all laughed at this, but Dotty said, earnestly, “Don’t go, Doll;
you’ll have to tell on the boys and girls, and that will be awful mean.”
“No, I won’t. I’ve a plan of my own, and I won’t say a word about your
playing a joke, or anything about any of you. But I do think, Lollie,
and you Tad and Tod too, that it’s a mean, horrid thing to play
practical jokes, and I think you _ought_ to be told on,—but I won’t
tell on you.”
“Ah, now, Dolly, Towhead Dolly, don’t be hard on us,” said Tad, in such
a wheedlesome way that Dolly had to laugh. “We didn’t mean any real
harm, and she _has_ been awfully cross to us, and we’re not such angels
of goodness as you are—”
“I’m not an angel of goodness, Tad Brown, and I’ll thank you to stop
making fun of me! But I do believe in being decent to a teacher, even if
she is strict in her rules.”
“Come on, Dolly,” said Dotty, as they neared the street where Miss
Partland lived; “if you’re going, I’ll go with you.”
“Oh, ho!” jeered Lollie, “_two_ little angels of goodness, little white
angels, with shiny wings! Well, fly into old Party’s house, and see
what’s the matter with her,—mumps or measles!”
The two girls went to the house, and were invited to go up to the
teacher’s room.
They found Miss Partland, sitting in an easy chair, looking disconsolate
indeed.
“How do you do, girls?” she said, listlessly; “won’t you sit down?”
The two D’s sat down, and Dolly said, at once, “Oh, I’m glad to see you
looking so much better, Miss Partland! You’re not really ill, are you?”
“I don’t know, Dolly,” and the poor lady looked sadly distraught. She
was not an interesting invalid in appearance. She had on an old grey
flannel wrapper, and her hair was untidy. A bowl of broth, cold,—and
one or two bottles were on her table, and the whole room had an unkempt,
uncared-for air. “You see,” she went on, “I didn’t know I had heart
trouble, and it worries me terribly.”
“Do you know it yet?” asked Dolly. “Have you had a doctor?”
“I’ve sent for him, but he hasn’t come yet. But several people have
called or telephoned, and they all speak of my heart attack, so I think
it must have been that.”
Dotty looked very serious, and blushed a little as she realised to what
a pass their thoughtless joke had brought the teacher.
“Miss Partland,” Dolly went on. “I don’t believe it was your heart, or
you’d be sicker now. You don’t feel bad, do you?”
“N-no,—I guess not,—I can hardly tell.”
“Well, you look real well to me—”
“Oh, do I? I’m glad to hear you say so. I thought myself, if it were
anything serious, I’d feel worse than I do. I haven’t any real pain, you
know.”
“That’s good; and I believe all you want is to brace up and forget it.
Forget that little bother of yesterday, I mean.”
“Say, Miss Partland,” broke in Dotty, “won’t you let me do your hair in
a new way that I’ve just tried on mother’s? I often do her hair for her,
and she says it rests her a lot. And this new way—”
“Mercy, child, I never had anybody touch my hair in my life!”
“Then you don’t know how it helps. Just let me try. Where’s your comb?
and hairpins? Oh, here they are. No, don’t face the mirror, I want you
to be surprised.”
Dotty bustled around, and almost before Miss Partland knew it, she was
having her hair dressed by the skilful little hands. The hair was not
long or luxurious, but it was of fine texture, and when released from
the tight little knob it was wound in, proved slightly wavy. Dot made
the most of it, and drawing it up in a soft French twist, she puffed it
out at the sides, and made a most becoming and transforming coiffure.
“There!” she said, “you’re real pretty now, and I’d like to see anybody
say you look sick!”
Miss Partland looked in the glass and was astounded. The unwonted
performance had brought the colour to her cheeks, and interest to her
eyes, and when she saw the whole effect in the mirror, she fairly beamed
with delight.
“Now, haven’t you a nicer kimono, or dressing gown? This isn’t very
pretty for afternoon, and the doctor coming and all.”
Miss Partland looked amazed. “I never thought about it,” she said; “I
haven’t any other,—or, that is—yes, I have one my sister sent me for
Christmas, but I’ve never worn it. It’s too nice.”
“Mayn’t we see it?”
Miss Partland went to the closet and brought out a big box. From it she
took a beautiful Japanese kimono of pale blue silk, embroidered with
pink chrysanthemums.
“There,” she said, “you see I couldn’t wear that.”
“Why not?” cried Dolly. “It’s lovely! And it just suits your blonde
colouring.”
This was stretching the point a little, for Miss Partland’s blondeness
was of the type known as ash, and her faded complexion and dull light
blue eyes hardly deserved the name of colouring.
But Dolly was sincere, and she meant to make the most of what little
natural vanity the lady possessed.
“Yes, indeed,” chimed in Dotty. “That’s too pretty to be buried in an
old dark closet! Put it on, quick, before the doctor gets here!”
A little bewildered, Miss Partland hurried into the robe, and the girls
were astounded at the becomingness of it.
“Well, well!” cried Dotty. “Try our plans, and you will be surprised at
the result! Why, Miss Partland, you’re a hummer! A regular peach! Isn’t
she, Doll?”
“Yes-sir-ee!” And Dolly patted the blue silk approvingly. Then they
wound the blue sash, that belonged to the robe, round about her, and
tucked the ends in in Chinese fashion.
“You must put that on every day after school,” said Dotty, “it’s lovely
on you.”
“But it’s too nice. I never dreamed of wearing it—”
“No matter, just you wear it, and when it’s worn out I ’spect sister’ll
give you another.”
“Of course she would, she’s awfully fond of me.”
“She’d be fonder, if she could see you now. Clothes make a heap of
difference,” and Dotty nodded her head sagely. “My goodness, here’s the
doctor! I hear his automobile stopping. Yes, it is,” as she peeped from
the window. “Shall we go home, Miss Partland?”
“No, just go in the next room, and after he’s gone, I’ll tell you what
he said.”
“Oh, thank you, I do want to know,” said Dolly, and the two ran into the
next room and shut the door.
A little time later, Miss Partland opened the door and summoned them.
She was smiling and so happy looking that she was almost pretty,—a word
rarely used in connection with the Geometry teacher.
“Come in, girls,” she said. “The doctor says I have no heart trouble of
any sort, and that I am as sound as a dollar!”
“Did he say what ailed you yesterday?”
“He said I was probably nervous over some trifle, but he said it had
left no trace, for my nerves are all right now. And, what do you think?
He said that as I had enough interest in life to take some pains with my
toilette, I was in no danger of nervous prostration! And just think!
Before you two came in, I was wondering whether I’d better go to a
sanitarium!”
“Oh, Miss Partland! Not really!”
“Yes, really. I thought my whole nervous system was shattered. Everybody
said I looked so ill, and they gave me such commiserating glances—”
“Well, they won’t any more,” interrupted Dotty, who was cut to the soul
by these remarks. Well she knew whose suggestions and whose glances had
brought about the sad state of things.
“And now,” said practical Dolly, “I’m going to straighten up this room a
little. You may have more callers.”
She whisked away the bowl and bottles into the bathroom. She
straightened the shades, dusted a little, and with a few deft touches
here and there, she made the room tidy and neat. She found a glass vase
which she washed, and setting it on the table, said, “We must go now,
Miss Partland, but I’m going to send you a few flowers, and I want you
to put them in this vase, and set them right here on the table, will
you?”
“Indeed I will, you dear child. You’re dear little girls, both, and I
can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for your pleasant call. I can’t
promise to wear this elaborate gown every day, but I will buy myself one
that is more presentable than the one I had on when you came.”
“And have it pretty, Miss Partland,” begged Dolly; “pretty things keep
you from getting sick.”
“I wonder if they do, you little rascal; how do you know?”
“Well, maybe they wouldn’t keep you from getting chicken pox, they
didn’t me, but I’m just sure they’re good for nervous prostration.”
“I shouldn’t wonder a bit,” and Miss Partland smiled brightly as she
bade the girls good-bye.
“Now I’m going to get her some flowers,” said Dolly as they reached the
street. “I haven’t much left of my allowance, but I can get her half a
dozen carnations or two roses. Which would you, Dot?”
“Carnations, I guess. They last longer. I’m going to get her a couple of
fruits. Say, a grapefruit and an orange, how’s that?”
“Fine! I’m glad you thought of it. It’ll cheer her a lot. I say, Dot, we
did do her some good.”
“I should say we did! But it was all your doing, I just went along.”
“Nonsense! You did as much as I did. Why, I don’t know how you ever
thought of fussing up her hair! It was just the thing, but it never
would have occurred to me.”
“I dunno myself how I happened to think of it. But her old head looked
so frowsy and untidy, I wanted to see if it would make a difference. And
it did!”
“I should say so! Here’s the fruit store. Going in?”
“Yes, come on.”
They went in, and Dotty made a judicious selection of two oranges and a
bunch of white grapes, as they were not sure Miss Partland cared for
grapefruit.
“And if any one _doesn’t_ like it,” said Dotty, making a wry face, “they
don’t like it all over! _I_ can’t abide it!”
“I love it,” returned Dolly, “but as you say, Dot, if people don’t like
it they don’t. Grapes are much safer. Now, come on to the flower shop.”
A half dozen carnations of an exquisite shade were available for the
money Dolly had, and it was with great satisfaction she saw them put in
a box and sent off at once to Miss Partland.
“I say, Dolly, you’re an awful trump!” declared Dotty, as they walked
along. “I never should have thought of going to fix things up with old
Party. And now, I’m awful glad we did. Why is it, you always have these
good thinks and I never do?”
“I dunno. Sometimes it makes me mad though when the boys call me
goody-goody. And Celia Ferris said I was a spoilsport. That isn’t very
nice to be called, Dot, is it?”
“No; but you always come out all right. You see, I’m full of the
dickens, and when the boys want me to cut up jinks, I go into it head
over heels without thinking. You hesitate, and think it over and then
you do the right thing.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I think maybe I _am_ an old Primmy, as Tad
calls me. Hello, here’s Tad now.”
Tad Brown met them as he came flying round a corner, closely followed by
his twin brother Tod.
“Hello, girls,” Tad called out. “Been to old Party’s? How is she?”
“She’s all right,” and Dolly laughed gaily. “She’s had the doctor and he
says her heart’s sound as a dollar. So you see your old joke didn’t hurt
her, after all.”
“But it would have,” put in Dotty, “if Doll hadn’t gone there and
chirked her up, and told her she wasn’t sick at all.”
“You went too,” said Dolly, laughing.
“Oh, ’course. Whithersoever thou goest, theresoever will I also went.
And say, boys, you’ve got to be gooder’n pie to-morrow, and every day,
to make up to old Party for your badness. She’s a funny old thing, but
she’s nice, and since I’ve seen her at home, I feel different toward
her, more intimate like and sorry for her.”
“All right,” said Tad, heartily. “I’m ready to be good. I’m pretty well
ashamed of that old joke business, since it turned out so badly.”
“Me, too,” and Tod shook his head. “I thought it was funny at first, but
it didn’t pan out well. I’ll never play another joke on anybody! any
way, not till the next time. Going to the High School Dance, girls?”
“Yes, indeedy!” and Dolly’s eyes glistened. “Won’t it be fun? It is the
first time I’ve ever been to an evening party.”
“Go with me?” and Tod paused in the street, and swept his best
dancing-school bow.
“Gracious, I don’t know,” said Dolly, overcome at this sudden
grown-upness. “I don’t believe mother will let me go with a boy.”
“Oh, yes, she will,” said Tad. “Just to a school dance. You go with Tod,
Dolly; and, Dot, you go with me, and then we’ll be all in the same
boat.”
“I’d like to,” said Dolly, “but I’m sure mother won’t let me. What do
you think, Dot?”
“I think my mother will muchly object at first, but I think I can coax
her into it.”
“Why, all the girls will go with the boys,” said Tad eagerly. “They
always do. You see our bunch has never been in High School before, and
when we’re in Rome we must do as the Turkeys do.”
“Who is going with who else, that you know of?”
“Oh, Celia Ferris is going with Lollie Henry, and Joe Collins—”
“Well, what about Joe Collins?” asked Dolly.
“Oh, nothin’.”
“Yes, there is, too; what made you stop short?”
“Well, if you must know, he said he was going to ask you.”
“Oh, do you boys talk it all over,—about who you’ll take, I mean?”
“Sure we do,” said Tod, grinning. “I gave Joe my new knife if he’d let
me ask you first.”
“You didn’t!” and Dolly looked shocked.
“No, of course he didn’t!” said Tad. “Don’t you let him fool you,
Dolly.”
The quartette had walked along to the Fayres’ house, and the boys wanted
to go in and see how the house was coming on. But Dolly wouldn’t allow
this, as she said she must study her lessons.
“And you must all go home and study,” she said shaking her golden head
at them. “I want you to have good lessons to-morrow, and cheer Miss
Party up.”
“I’ll tell her she’s looking blooming,” said Tad, laughing over his
shoulder as he went away.
“I’ll tell her she’s a perfect peach!” declared Tod, and then with gay
good-byes they parted.