At the door of the Gymnasium, Blake halted suddenly, peered around the
room, and swore under his breath. Hearing his own whispering voice was a
comfort to him, but it did not dispel his panic. It was embarrassing,
torturing, to be so early at the Ball. Anyone seeing him would think
that he was eager. He could not bear to be eager, or to be thought so.
No one had come but the orchestra and a few town people who had not gone
to the Vaudeville. Had they seen him? He withdrew to the darkness
outside and plucked nervously at the elastic that held the tall sombrero
on his head. If anyone should see him now they would think that he was
being kept waiting by someone. Irresolutely he turned and went to his
car, to sit there, he told himself grimly, until he had counted twenty
people going in to fill up that appalling room.
How had he happened to be so early? He wondered what he was missing, and
had a spasm of jealousy. Now he was sorry that he had dashed so quickly
after the show. He had been so afraid that Mary would ask him to take
Phyllis or Lucy over to the Gymnasium. He had wanted to start this
evening of festival all alone and unhampered. He had gone for a short
drive, the Circle Drive up towards Taos, and had been confident he would
be late. Probably they were still at the theatre, talking about the
Pearson business.
He crouched there smoking until he had counted his twenty people. He
decided to count ten more before risking an entrance. At twenty-seven he
saw Teddy coming with a crowd, showing the tickets of the party and
carrying coats to be checked and in general being very useful. If Teddy
had come, it would be safe. Blake stood up and went into the Gym. The
orchestra had begun to play listlessly, saving its energy for later.
Teddy greeted him impatiently.
“Where were you? I lost everybody,” he said. “I just picked this crowd
up. Gwen and the others went tooting off and I thought you’d be with
them. Where’s your mother? None of them are here. What’s the idea?”
Blake explained that his mother had gone with Mrs. Saville-Sanders for
an extempore committee meeting. “I heard them say they’d have some
coffee and get the important business over with right away. I ran away.
It’s probably awfully dull. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Teddy tried to thrust his hands into his pockets, but his velvet
trousers had no pockets. “It’s very queer,” he said. “Why didn’t they
ask me too? I had a lot of things to say; I must say it’s queer. Do you
think it means anything?”
Blake thought he understood. “I hate to miss things, too,” he said. “It
isn’t anything, though. You weren’t on the committee, that’s all.”
“I suppose that’s why.” Teddy looked at the door. “Here they are now,
anyway. Whatever it was, it didn’t take long.”
The room had filled and the officials of the party had begun to line
people up for the Grand March. Mary, loitering behind with the matrons,
tried to persuade Blake to go in, but he resisted her.
“You go in, if you want to,” he suggested. “I haven’t any partner; I
don’t want to go. You walk with Madden. He wants to march.”
They walked off arm in arm and he climbed to a bench and stood perched
on high, to see more clearly. It was very colourful and pleasant; the
Gymnasium did not look exactly like a palace, but it didn’t look at all
like a schoolroom. In the centre, the marchers were lined up and the
orchestra began to play “La Cucha-racha.” They marked time, moved,
started off, and he saw them one by one as they passed. Some of the
costumes were beautiful. Many of them had no appreciable connection with
the period of the Conquistadores, but no one cared about that. The
girls, at least, were faithful to their conceptions of Spain. There were
short-skirted women with flat black hats, and long-skirted girls very
bouffant and draped with lacy shawls. There were women with mantillas
and women who had had to tie their high combs to their heads with silver
ribbons or elastics, to hold them on in spite of their Eton crops. Some
women had dressed for evening and then had relented enough to put roses
in their hair. The men were armoured knights and cowboys and trappers
and Indians. All sorts of Indians. Some were dressed in costumer’s
leather and buckskin and some were last-minute affairs of plain shirts
with tails out, and moccasins. Phil Ray had rebelled at the
indeterminate Indian tendency: in reaction he was wearing a slouch cap
and checked trousers from one of his dance costumes, and if anyone asked
him why, he retorted, “I’m an Apache.”
Everyone—men and women—had taken advantage of the Carnival to do what
they wanted to do in the matter of paint. Boys were languishing and
red-lipped, with fierce cork mustaches and Vandykes and heavy hairy
eyebrows. Girls’ cheeks flamed orange and scarlet. As the room grew
warmer, everyone began to streak slightly.
Three times they marched round the room until Blake was heartily tired
of “La Cucha-racha.” So was someone else. A determined young man stepped
from the march and went up to whisper into the ear of the orchestra
leader. The signal was given, the tune changed at last, and the line
melted into a dance. Blake remembered his duty and climbed down to claim
Mary until the first intermission after the dance. Afterwards he went
back to the line of wall-flowers to watch the others. He was standing
behind a line of old women who had “just come to look on,” and listened
to what they were saying while he kept his eyes fixed on the dancers.
They were amusing, but horrible. They were so spiteful and helpless. The
worst of it was that they all agreed; if one of them said something they
all nodded and added to the statement. They agreed on the prettiest
costume; they nodded in concert if one of them ventured a view on the
morals of some unfortunate girl who danced by.
During the third dance, well on towards midnight, he plucked up courage
enough to leave the faded ladies and claim Gin for a dance. She was in
high spirits. He had watched her from across the floor; now that she was
in his arms breathing in his face he understood better why she was so
excited. Corn liquor, probably. They went twice around the room without
speaking.
“Are you having a good time?” she asked him then. “You look glum.”
“Not very. Does anyone?”
“Oh I do,” she said. “I love crowds, don’t you? Everybody in the world
is here. Even from Taos. It’s simply marvelous. Have you seen Phil?
Isn’t he rare?”
He glanced at her obliquely and decided that she was pretending. No one
could be enjoying it, really. Everyone was trying too hard, as they
always did in crowds. He was depressed. Merry-making always seemed to
leave him out. Was it his own fault? Of course the wags were busy, being
clownish. Clowns were always too busy to think about enjoyment itself.
Why couldn’t he be like that? If he could even stop thinking about
himself it would be more comfortable, but he couldn’t. No one ever
could. Mary couldn’t, or Teddy.
The dance was ended; she took his arm and started to lead him from the
room.
“Where are we going?” he asked suspiciously.
“Out to the car. I want a drink, don’t you? Harvey’s waiting.”
“No. If you don’t mind, I won’t come along.” He was afraid of Harvey;
afraid that he would be in the way. Harvey had danced with Gin held very
close, in a very proprietary manner.
She tugged at him. “Come along. You don’t have to drink if you don’t
want to, but please come on. Please. I hate sitting out there alone with
him.”
That settled it and he stopped short. “No,” he said flatly. “No I
won’t.”
She cried out impatiently and began to argue, as he knew she would. But
whatever she was saying, he did not hear; he was suddenly listening to
another voice behind him, that struck him with terror.
“There’s Blake Lennard,” he heard, and knew it was Maria. “Oh Blake!
turn around.”
He obeyed, but he was very fearful. Maria was hanging to the arm of Mrs.
Lyons, and she was dressed magnificently in a Spanish dress of black
lace. Inherited, probably. She narrowed her eyes as she smiled and he
thought nervously that she looked like the—was it basilisk or obelisk?
Mrs. Lyons, always stupid, now beamed at them maternally as Maria seized
his free arm. Maria ignored Gin completely. “Aren’t you going to dance
with me?” she asked him.
“Surely. See you later—just a minute.” He pulled away and hurried out,
with Gin looking back wonderingly at the little girl.
“Good heavens. Who is that little vamp? What’s been going on between
you?” She was giggling.
“Where’s the car?” he asked impatiently. “I’d better stay a while.”
Harvey, when they found him packed down in the back seat of his auto,
was very jovial, and if he objected to Blake’s presence he at least gave
no indication of it. He was very insistent upon sharing his bottle.
Blake still held out. “I don’t like the taste, really.”
“He’s got to keep his wits about him tonight,” Gin explained, and patted
his shoulder affectionately. “Don’t you make him take anything if he
doesn’t want to. He’s saving himself for a little girl back there who’s
waiting for a dance. You ought to see her, and the way she looks at
him!” She laughed heartily. “Blake’s been carrying on behind our backs,
that’s what the trouble is. Carrying on!”
“Oh, stop it. Do you really think I ought to go back and dance?”
“Ought to? How do I know what you’ve been doing with her? You won’t get
home alive if you don’t, if that’s what you mean.”
He sighed unhappily. “Give me a drink,” he asked pleadingly, and Harvey
shouted with laughter.
He pounded Blake on the back as he handed him the little cup. “That’s
the boy. He’s all right, he is. _I_ used to think Blake was just a
sissy, but he’s all right. One of the boys.”
“Of course he’s all right,” said Gin. “I always told you he was. Now
he’s turned out to be John Gilbert besides.”
“Stop giggling!” Blake flushed with rage. “You’re always giggling.”
She giggled again. Harvey put his arm around her and she made no effort
to push him away. In spite of himself, Blake had to look at them. He
couldn’t make up his mind what to do. If he started to go they would
object, and insist on his staying. If he went back to the ballroom he
would have to dance with Maria; he couldn’t face it. He sat still, being
miserable. He tried to keep his eyes off the shadow that was Gin and
Harvey, twined in each other’s arms, but there was no help for it. In
the corridor made by the tonneaus of the cars, lined up in three
straight rows, other people were pouring drinks and sitting close
together. He heard the sounds; whisperings and laughter and soft
chinking. Any evening at the Country Club it was the same. Why did they
come all the way to Santa Fé to do it? He thought again—and again and
again—of that hint Maria had given him about Teddy and Revelita. Teddy
too? He could not believe it. Teddy, who painted so well and talked so
well and was so impatient of all this; just as impatient as he himself
had been. Teddy never mentioned it. Would he never understand the rest
of the people in the world? Was there nothing for it but to go on alone,
travelling by himself through life? He looked disgustedly at Gin, just
as she came to a late realization of his mood, and pulled herself away
from Harvey.
“Where’s Teddy?” she asked, as casually as if she were continuing a
conversation. “I want him. Harvey, go on and get him: you’re falling
asleep.”
Harvey stirred and shook his head. “I don’t want to. I’m sleepy.”
“Oh, don’t be mean. Go and get him. I want to tell him something.”
“I’ll get him,” said Blake. He leaped out, disregarding her protests,
and went back to the ballroom, forgetting all about Maria until he
reached the door. Then, in a panic, he hid behind a tall girl who was
going in, and looked around fearfully before he started over to Teddy in
the corner. Janie Peabody seized him as he walked by her. He was
surprised, because Janie never noticed him any more than he noticed her.
Now she was very cordial. She insisted on making him sit next to her,
holding his arm and talking very seriously and incoherently. He knew
that she was drunk. He remembered that it was one of the things the old
ladies said when they sat against the wall at parties; Janie drinks too
much. That Peabody girl ought to have more sense. If someone would
persuade her to go to a sanatorium—so sad at her age.... He wondered
how to get away, but he couldn’t think fast enough. She wanted to dance.
Unhappily, he pulled her to her feet and started around the room. It was
unutterably difficult. He couldn’t listen properly to the music, and she
was unsteady and leaned heavily on him. When she began to sing he looked
at the floor, and this naturally led to many collisions. He looked up
again, desperately, and just then Janie decided that she was tired and
slumped to the floor. She sat there, laughing.
“This isn’t happening,” he thought frantically. “It’s a dream.”
He persuaded her to stand up again, pulling her by the wrists, and tried
to lead her to the side of the room. Just then he caught a glimpse of
Mary, white-faced, looking the other way. He had thought that he could
not be more miserable, but when he saw her he reached the limit of his
endurance. He handed Janie over to Trewartha, and then took a deep
breath and walked across the floor to Mary.
“I was looking for you,” he said, abruptly.
She bowed her head. What was she going to say to him?
“You look tired,” he added. “Would you like to go home? It’s pretty
late.”
“Thank you, Blake,” she said coldly. “I don’t think that I want you to
come with me.”
“Why not?” He suddenly thought he understood. “You don’t want me to come
home any more?”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic. Go away, please. Don’t stop enjoying yourself.”
His anger with Janie burst out now. “You’re the one who’s being
dramatic. Very well, I won’t come home.”
“That’s your own affair.” She opened her fan and started to wave it
delicately. “Mother....”
“Blake, please. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
He muttered, “No we won’t,” and started away, feeling decidedly ill with
passion. On his way to the door he blundered into Mrs. Lyons, who
stopped him.
“So you’re leaving us?” She smiled down at him with her customary
indiscriminate fondness for youth.
He managed to collect his manners, saying politely, “It’s a nice party,
but I’m sleepy.”
“I didn’t mean tonight,” she explained. “Wednesday I mean. I understand
you’re really leaving on Wednesday. Such a shame, when you’re having a
good time! My boys hate to go back to school.”
His jaw dropped as if someone had hit him on the back of the head.
“Wednesday?”
“Did I misunderstand?” she said. “I’m sure your mother said Wednesday.”
“Oh, of course. Yes, Wednesday. Well, I must be going. Good-night.”
But that was in four days! He walked towards Teddy, instinctively
seeking help. Why hadn’t she told him? She had been too excited,
probably; she had forgotten or put it off until she would have more time
to argue. He rallied in his despair, and grew calm.
“Teddy,” he said, over Lucy’s shoulder, “I’ve got to talk to you.”
“Shhh.” Teddy waved him to silence. Bob was talking to Lucy Parker, and
he wanted to listen.
“It’s a modern orgy,” he was saying. “It’s the nearest approach to a
public orgy that we’ll ever have in New Mexico.”
Lucy glanced around, with her lips pursed scornfully, and remarked that
for an orgy it was very dull indeed. “Look, there’s hardly anyone here
to perform. Everyone is being either very dull or most circumspect.”
“Of course,” said Bob triumphantly. “That’s the modern note. All the
essence of the orgy is in the aftermath. We’ve lost the knack for public
vice. We’ve——”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” whispered Blake, “come on. This is awfully
important.”
“What is it?” They strolled off.
“I’m in a mess. I just found out—Oh, Lord.” He had caught sight of
Maria coming towards him. “Come on outside. I’ll never be able to tell
you in here. It’s terrible.”
They stepped out of the door and were almost knocked over by Gin, who
was in a whirl of dishevelled shawl and escaping hair. She flung herself
upon them.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” she cried. “Take me home. I’m in the most
awful mess.”
“Another?” asked Teddy. “Well, tell us all about it.”
They went to Blake’s car and crowded into the front seat.
Teddy nodded to Gin. “Well, tell yours first.”
“I couldn’t possibly tell you,” she said. “It’s too involved. It’s
indecent besides. Just get me out of here before Harvey finds me,
because he’s in a state and if I see him again I’ll pull his hair out.”
She laughed in a shrill voice. “The old sheep,” she said hysterically.
“He acts exactly like a sheep.”
“Well, then, wait a minute. Blake’s really in trouble.”
“Oh.” She calmed down immediately. “I’m sorry. Is it serious?”
Blake sat tragically slumped, with his chin propped on his hands over
the steering-wheel. “I just heard that Mother’s shipping me off on
Wednesday,” he said.
The others gasped in chorus.
“Wednesday!” cried Gin. “You mean to school? California? But that’s just
four days from now!”
“Three days. Today is tomorrow. I mean it’s three o’clock.”
In the silence the music in the Gymnasium sounded foolish and far away.
Someone scuffled and laughed in one of the nearby automobiles. “You
can’t argue with your mother?” Gin asked.
“No. She’s in a state about something. I can’t even talk to her
decently.”
Teddy said, “Wait till morning. Maybe she’ll be all right then.”
“No, I don’t dare risk it. It wouldn’t do any good. I’ll just have to go
unless I get away before she catches me.”
They must have understood him, for they remained silent. A little breeze
came from the mountains.
Gin took a quick, noisy breath and cried, “Well, why shouldn’t you?
Let’s all go away now. This minute, while we have a chance.”
Teddy said nothing. They looked at him imploringly, waiting, but he did
not say anything. At last Gin took him by the shoulders and shook him.
“You’re not going to back out, are you?” she begged. “You want to go
away, don’t you? You said you did. Come on. Blake, you tell him.”
Blake couldn’t speak. “Oh, all right,” said Gin petulantly. “Neither of
you mean it. Come on, Blake, let’s get out and leave him here. He can
stay in this old town till he rots. I’m going to Mexico.”
Blake’s mind seemed to burn up in a quick ecstatic thought of it. He
shuddered.
Teddy spoke at last. “Of course I’m going. Don’t be an ass. I’m just
thinking.” He sat still, and then said, “First we’d better get coats.
Give me the checks. It’s going to be cold.”
“Oh,” Gin cried impatiently, “we don’t need coats. Come on.”
“Wait a minute. Give me the check, you lunatic.” She handed it to him;
he took Blake’s and went to the door. When he came back with the
coats——“There,” he said. “We don’t have to be quite half cocked, do
we? Now about money. We’ll need gas, Gin: try to snap out of it. I’m
broke. Is everyone?”
“No,” said Blake, “I’ve got fifteen dollars.”
“I cashed my salary today,” said Gin. “I have twenty. That’s enough,
isn’t it?”
“It’s got to be. All right, let’s go. Let’s see where we can be by
morning.” He wrapped his coat around him and sat back.
Blake laughed loudly. “Ready?” he called. “Everybody ready?”
“Let’s go!”
The engine raced for a minute. Blake backed the car, then started down
the road to Albuquerque.