MAD AND MEASLES
THE next day was Saturday, and the Two D’s had planned to spend the
morning at Treasure House, studying first, and afterward arranging for a
luncheon they were going to have there the next Saturday.
They intended to ask four girls and have a lovely party, but now the
very thought of it brought the tears to Dolly’s eyes. She was in her
room, wondering whether to go over to Treasure House or to wait for some
word from Dotty. They had never had a real quarrel before and Dolly
didn’t know quite how to manage it. So she watched from her window to
see if Dot would go over. And Dotty did. Soon Dolly saw her walking
along the path, her head up, singing a little song, and then she
unlocked the door of Treasure House and went in.
So Dolly followed, and went in to find that Dotty had started a good
fire, and was sitting at her desk, studying.
Dolly looked at Dotty and Dotty looked at Dolly, but neither spoke.
Dolly thought Dotty looked spiteful and Dotty thought Dolly looked
stubborn. And they both did look so, and they felt so.
Dolly threw off her coat, laid another log on the blazing fire, and sat
down at her desk to study.
Silence reigned and reigned with such absolute monarchy that each girl
felt as if she should scream. Perhaps you know the tension of such a
situation. Both sat still, until arms and legs felt rigid, faces were
strained, and hearts beat as if they would burst. Yet, neither felt she
could speak. That would be a humiliating admission of being in the
wrong, which neither was willing to make.
Turned slightly away from each other, they were not mutually visible,
yet each felt that the other knew every move she made.
Dolly was almost ready to cry, her neck felt so stiff and her arm so
cramped. She moved a trifle, and the sensation was as if she had made a
disturbance in church. She at once became motionless again, her burning
face showing her embarrassed self-consciousness.
Dotty of sterner stuff sat stiffly still, now and then turning a page of
her book with utmost deliberation. Then her foot went to sleep, and she
wanted to get up and dance on it. Of course, there was no reason why she
shouldn’t dance on it to her heart’s content, but if you are acquainted
with the peculiar etiquette of “getting mad,” you know she would have
endured torture before she would have done anything that could have been
construed as sociable.
So the two silly things sat there, each trying to study, pretending to
study, and really wondering what the other was thinking.
At last the burned out fire required mending. With a furtive glance at
Dotty, Dolly got up, sauntered to the wood-box, selected a log with
care, and laid it carefully on the embers of the expiring ones glowing
among the ashes.
Dotty jumped up, glad of a chance to step on her sleeping foot, and
seizing the poker, jammed Dolly’s log into place so fiercely that it
fell down between the andirons.
“I’ll ’tend to the fire,” said Dolly, coldly, for a speech of this sort
was entirely permissible.
“You think you know all about fire-making, don’t you? Well, that big log
will never burn without a stick of kindling-wood.”
“It would, if you’d let it alone. You always poke a fire till you put it
out!”
“I don’t either! I had the fire all right, till you came over and
bothered with it.”
“Well, then, fix it yourself, smarty, if you know so much!”
Dolly flounced back to her chair and sat down. Usually gentle, and
even-tempered, when Dolly did get stirred up, she was so miserable, all
through, that she couldn’t control herself. And now, she knew that if
she staid there with Dotty, in those strained relations, she would very
shortly burst into uncontrollable tears.
Dotty slammed another log on top of the first one, took the hearth brush
and flirted the ashes about a little, took the tongs, and fussed about
with those, and then, adjusting the fender with meticulous care, went
back to her seat, and again silence took up its sceptre.
The very light-ticking clock could be plainly heard, indeed it sounded
as loud as the click of a typewriter in the gloomy atmosphere. The girls
turned farther away from each other until they were fairly back to back.
Dolly was all the time growing more and more inclined to tears; not
tears of sorrow, so much as of indignation, of weariness and of general
nerve strain.
Dotty, tearless, with no inclination to cry, became more and more
ruffled with anger at Dolly, and a vague half-recognised jealousy of
Bernice; as well as a sort of remorse at her own unkindness to her chum.
But what could be done? Girls who are “mad at” each other can not
violate the age-old canons of not speaking, and to speak first was the
deepest humiliation.
So the two little ninnies sat there. Dotty’s feet went to sleep, one
after the other. Dolly’s arms stiffened and relaxed in turn. The minutes
dragged by like hours. Lessons were not learned, for how can one put
one’s mind on the Ptolemies or their successors, when one is mad at
one’s friend?
At last, somehow, the motionless hour-hand of the hammering clock
managed to worm its way to twelve, a permissible, if not usual, hour to
go home.
Simultaneously, and with the same air of preoccupied intentness, both
girls put away books and papers, and pulled on her coat sleeves.
Dolly dawdled over her desk a moment, hoping Dotty would speak. Dotty
looked at the back of Dolly’s head, decided it still looked stubborn,
and turned away.
Together, yet miles apart, they went out of the door. Dotty locked it
with her key, she was always the quicker one at that, and then, with an
assumed lightness of step, the two silly young things ran across their
respective lawns and into their respective homes.
Merry and bright they were at their respective luncheon tables, for the
unwritten law required that their parents must not know of the tragedy
that had befallen.
So, when Mrs. Fayre informed Dolly that her company was desired for a
ride that afternoon, the consent was prompt and willing. And when Mrs.
Rose asked Dotty to stay with Genie while she went out on some errands,
there was no objection raised.
But there were two sore and sorry hearts in the neighbouring houses, and
two brains pondered over the question of what was best to do.
Dolly was unwilling to give up her pet plan of helping Bernice. She
couldn’t explain entirely to her own satisfaction, just why she was so
interested in this project, but she knew she had no unworthy motive. It
was not,—of that she was sure,—because Bernie was rich and lived in
the grandest house in Berwick. It was not because she wanted her for her
own particular friend. But it seemed too bad that a nice girl like that
should be out of everything for lack of a guiding hand. And, it must be
admitted, Dolly liked to play the part of guiding hand.
Dotty, for her part, was mad because Dolly had gone off and asked the
girls to invite Bernice to their party, after she had practically agreed
not to. This was Dolly’s sole argument. The fact of her own jealousy of
Dolly’s interest in Bernice she ignored, for the present, at least.
So the two foolish ones spent much of the golden Autumn afternoon
ruffling the feathers of their souls, and persistently keeping them
ruffled.
* * * * *
That evening, as the Fayres sat at dinner, the telephone rang, and Mrs.
Fayre was asked for.
After a time she returned to the table.
“Here’s a state of things,” she said, smiling, yet looking serious too.
“It was Mrs. Rose telephoning. Genie has the measles, or rather, they
think she has, and so Mrs. Rose asks if we’ll let Dotty come here to
stay till they’re over.”
“Well, well,” said Mr. Fayre, “that’s too bad for poor little Genie. But
I rather think I can guess the names of Two D’s who won’t be sorry about
the projected visit. Eh, Dollykins?”
Dolly was stricken dumb. Dotty coming for a week, maybe more,—how long
did measles last, anyway? Was it a month? Could they go without speaking
all that time?
“How—how long will she be here, Mother?” at last a small, scared voice
said.
“A couple of weeks, I daresay. Why,—aren’t you glad? I thought you’d be
overjoyed. Not at Genie’s illness, but at Dotty’s coming.”
“Did—did you tell her she could come, Mother?”
“Surely, child. Won’t you have the good times, though!”
“She can have the pink guest room,” said Trudy, kindly. “That’s almost
next to Doll’s room, and they can chum all they like. Hasn’t Dotty been
exposed, Mother?”
“Yes, but she has had measles, so she’s immune. But she can’t go to
school if she remains in the house where the illness is. So she’s to
come here.”
“When?” asked Dolly, in a queer, far-away voice.
“Now; right away,” replied her mother. “We’ll put aside that best lace
bed-set, Trudy, and give her a plainer one.”
“Of course. I’ll fix the room, Mother, you needn’t give it a thought.”
“You’re a great help, Trude,” said Mrs. Fayre, smiling at her elder
daughter.
Meantime the younger daughter of the house of Fayre was struggling with
her emotions. She didn’t know whether to be sorry or glad.
And before she had time to decide, Dotty arrived.
“Isn’t this great?” she exclaimed in a state of excitement. “It’s awful
kind of you, Mrs. Fayre, to take me in, but you see, I’d hate so to be
out of school just now. It’s near examinations, and I do want to pass.”
“We’ll pass you,” said Mr. Fayre. “We’ll put you through, with bells on!
But I expect you Two D’s will chatter and giggle all the time instead of
studying.”
“Oh, no, we won’t,” and from the cold smile Dotty flashed at her, Dolly
understood the feud was as desperate as ever, but the elders were to be
kept in ignorance of it. For a feud suspected by parents is as good as
finished. No real feud can exist in the scathing beams of grown people’s
ridicule.
So Dolly smiled coldly in return, and said, “No, indeed,” in a tone that
ought not to have deceived a feeble-minded jellyfish.
Nor did it deceive Trudy. “Something’s up,” she thought, but wisely kept
her thoughts to herself.
Later, when the girls went to bed, they parted at their doorways in the
hall.
“Good night, Dollyrinda,” said Dotty, heartily, in a voice loud enough
to be heard down-stairs, if any one chanced to be listening. “I’m
fearfully tired, so I’ll go right to bed.”
“Good night, Dotsie,” returned the other guileful one. “You must be
tired, with the worry about Genie, and all. Good night.”
The door shut and there was silence as far as the Two D’s were
concerned.
“What can it be?” thought Trudy, who had heard the high-pitched
conversation. But she bided her time to find out.
The next day was a trial. Being Sunday, the whole family was much
together. The Two D’s were at their wit’s end to preserve an apparent
friendliness, without showing each other any real diminution of their
desperate hatred of one another. Trudy eyed them, when she could do so
unobserved, and concluded that they were “mad at” each other. “Silly
little geese!” she thought, well remembering her own not so far past
schooldays.
She determined to give them every chance.
“Going over to Treasure House?” she inquired, soon after dinner.
“Dunno. Do you want to go, Dot?” said Dolly, with studied carelessness.
“Oh, I don’t care, Dolly. Just as you like,” and Dotty’s politeness was
faultless.
“Of course you do,” said Mr. Fayre, looking up from his paper. “What did
I build that house for if you’re not to use it?”
“Shall we go, Dot?”
“Yes, if you like.”
Dolly did not like, at all, but Mr. Fayre spoke up again. “Run along
over, kiddies, and after a while, I’ll saunter over myself. I haven’t
been there for a week, and I like to keep in touch with it.”
“All right, Dad. Come on, Dotty.”
The two girls went across the lawn, side by side.
“Wonder how Genie is,” said Dolly, with the laudable intention of
“making talk.”
“She isn’t sick, you know,” returned Dotty, courteously. “The doctor
isn’t sure it really is measles. But he’ll know in a day or two.”
They went into Treasure House. Something about the look of the place got
on Dolly’s nerves. The lovely house, the dear furniture, the beautiful
treasures, and then—the two owners acting like a pair of silly
idiots,—it was too much! But, whereas yesterday, she had felt sad and
distressed, the long trying hours had made her irritable and angry, and
as the door closed behind them, she burst out, “I think you’re perfectly
_horrid_, Dotty Rose!”
“So do I think _you_ are, Dolly Fayre!”
“The _idea_ of being mad at me, just because I want to do a deed of
kindness for a friend!”
“She _isn’t_ your friend.”
“Why, of course she’s my friend—”
“You hardly know her!”
“You don’t have to know people such an awful lot to be friends with
them,—not if they’re nice people.”
“Huh! I s’pose I’m not nice people, then. You’re not very friendly with
me!”
“Neither are you with me!”
“You know why.”
“So do you know why.”
“I don’t know why, and I don’t care why. If you want old Bernice Forbes
for your friend instead of me, you can have her, I don’t care!”
“I don’t want her instead of you—”
“You do so! You like her because she’s—”
“You stop that, Dotty Rose! Don’t you dare say that! I’ll like her if I
want to,—so there now, and you can think whatever you please! I don’t
care _what_ you think!”
A step on the porch sounded, and the angry combatants, ashamed to be
caught quarrelling, ran back to the dining-room.
“Where are you, ladies of the house?” called out Mr. Fayre, as he and
Mrs. Fayre stepped into the study.
“All right, be there in a minute,” called Dotty in a cheery voice, as
she mopped her heated brow with her handkerchief, and straightened her
rumpled collar.
And in a moment, two normally serene girls came in the room to receive
their guests.
“What were you talking about as we came up the steps?” asked Mrs. Fayre,
in idle curiosity; “you were speaking so loudly and excitedly.”
“We were—” began Dolly, and stopped. She was a truthful child, and
since she didn’t want to state the facts, she preferred to say nothing.
Dotty too, began to speak and stopped.
“Never mind, Mother,” said Mr. Fayre, laughing, “let the girls have
their little secrets.”