PLANS AND PARTIES
NEXT morning Mr. Wales called Betty into the library to tell her
she might do as she liked about the tea-room. His voice broke as he
explained that unless things took a sudden turn for the better they
should probably have to give up their house, at least for a year or so.
“So your present position is likely to be abolished,” he went on with a
rather forlorn attempt at gaiety, “and I heartily sympathize with your
wish to be up and doing. I hate to think that a daughter of mine needs
to work, but I’m glad she isn’t afraid to. It used to be the fashion
for young ladies whose families had lost their money to sit at home,
turning and mending their clothes and remembering better days.”
“I know--like Mary Hooper’s great-aunts,” laughed Betty. “That’s so
stupid. I’m glad I was born later. But, father, did mother come around
to the restaurant idea? Because maybe Nan or Rachel or somebody could
get me a place to teach, if mother would be happier about it. But girls
who want to work don’t all teach nowadays. Truly they don’t.”
Mr. Wales laughed. “That’s another antiquated notion, is it--that
teaching is the only ‘genteel’ calling? Your mother and I about came to
that conclusion last night. Anyway we’re quite willing that you should
try out this project. I will give you the money that your board here
would cost for the rest of the winter. You can use it as capital if
you like, but I should strongly advise holding it as an emergency fund
for personal expenses. Tea may be sixty cents a pound and ten cents a
cup, but I imagine you’ll find that’s only one very small detail in the
budget of a tea-room.”
“Of course,” agreed Betty, not daring to avow complete ignorance of the
meaning of a budget. “And thank you ever so much, father, for letting
me try. If we don’t succeed and my emergency fund gives out, will you
send me some beautiful references as a cook?”
“Certainly not, after you’ve basely deserted us with less than a
week’s notice,” retorted her father, pulling a yellow curl, and Betty
danced off, perfectly delighted at the exciting prospects before her,
to look over her clothes and make a list of other things she should
need “in her business.” But her ideas of the duties of her position
were so vague and businesslike, and clothes so very uninteresting,
that she finally decided not to waste her last week at home over them.
If Madeline thought her shirt-waists looked too frivolous, she could
overwhelm her with the six big aprons and Will’s cook-book.
Betty timed her arrival in New York a day after Madeline’s, but only
Babbie Hildreth met her train.
“Madeline’s stuck in the fog down the harbor,” she explained. “So when
I came last night I got the key from the tailor and hunted up the cook,
all by myself, and she brought the cat just as Madeline said she would.
And then that nice Mrs. Bob, the one we met before, helped me give a
party.”
“How did you happen to be giving a party?” laughed Betty.
“Because Mrs. Bob was tired of her own apartment. It’s perfectly
gorgeous, you know, since they got all that money, but she says it’s
so elegant and well-kept that it spoils the informality of things.
So the cook swept, and we dusted, and Mr. Bob invited the people and
bought the food. It was great.” Babbie gave a comical little skip to
emphasize her complete satisfaction with life. Then suddenly her small
face took on its most serious expression. “And to think how miserable
I’ve been lately. Poor mother was glad enough to let me come down here,
I’m afraid, I was so cross. I’m never going to look at a young man
again, Betty Wales, as long as I live. So there now!”
Betty patted Babbie’s arm soothingly. “That won’t prevent their looking
at you, I’m afraid,” she suggested, “at least not unless you stop
buying such becoming hats.”
Babbie frowned. “One can’t turn oneself into a frump, just on their
account. Buying becoming hats is one of the chief consolations of life.
I didn’t mean that I was going to retire from the world, but I shall
never let any one fall in love with me, never. That’s settled!”
“All right,” laughed Betty. “Now let’s settle where we’re going.”
“That’s settled too,” explained Babbie. “Mr. Dick Blake is meeting
Madeline, because I had to meet you. Then we are all to meet each other
for a grand lunch party, to celebrate Mr. Blake’s getting into his
scrumptious new offices,--the ones that your Mr. Morton arranged for,
you know. And to-night Mrs. Bob is going to take us all for dinner
to a new East Side place that they’ve discovered.” Babbie stopped to
survey Betty critically. “You don’t mind wasting to-day, do you, and
beginning on tea-rooms the first thing to-morrow? Your letter sounded
as solemncholy as Helen Chase Adams when she was a freshman.”
Betty laughed. “How dreadful! Of course I don’t mind. But you see,
Babbie, this tea-room business is just fun for you, but for me it’s
dead in earnest. If we can’t make it pay pretty well, why, next year I
may have to teach.”
Babbie nodded vigorously. “I see. That’s a prospect to make a person
solemn, isn’t it? But by next year your father will probably be rich
again. And I don’t want you to think I’m not in earnest too, Betty.
I’m going into this thing head over heels, just to show a certain
person that he doesn’t make one least little speck of difference to
me.” Babbie’s big eyes flashed dangerously. “So to-morrow we’ll pursue
tea-rooms like anything.”
But ten o’clock the next morning found the three pursuers of tea-rooms
gathered rather languidly around Madeline’s dainty breakfast table.
Mrs. Bob’s party had been, as usual, a continuous performance,
beginning at a very foreign café in Little Italy, going on, because
the Italian dessert had proved disappointing, to a glittering hotel
on Fifth Avenue, thence back to a Yiddish theatre, whose leading lady
was Mr. Bob’s latest enthusiasm, and winding up, very late indeed, at
supper near the park, after which it took so long to get home that Mrs.
Bob declared she was hungry again and made everybody come up to the
apartment for more supper.
“If everybody in New York eats as often as we did last night, there
ought to be a good chance for tea-rooms,” said Babbie, sipping her
coffee meditatively.
“If it makes them feel so sleepy the next day, they won’t do it very
often,” suggested Betty prudently.
“Yes, they will, but they’ll order breakfast at eleven instead of at
ten,” amended Madeline. “Well, now,” she went on briskly, “how are we
going to work? Having decided to start a tea-room, what does a person
do next?”
“We have absolutely decided, haven’t we?” asked Betty, to make sure.
“Of course.” Madeline waved a hand at the huge box of china that an
expressman had just delivered. “Coming over in the cab yesterday, Dick
read the story I wrote on shipboard--the one I thought was going to
make me a name instanter--and he says it’s amateurish. That’s the most
hateful adjective in the language of Bohemia, and I’ll make him eat his
words. But meanwhile I’ve got to eat something more sustaining than
words, and I’ve spent all the money I had to live on this quarter.
So I’ve got to get rid of that china. So we’ve got to take it for a
tea-room.”
“If you think this tea-room is being started to confirm you in
your extravagant habits, Madeline Ayres----” began Babbie, in mock
indignation.
[Illustration: “HOW ARE WE GOING TO WORK?”]
“Well, the point is that we’ve decided to start it,” pursued Madeline
calmly, “and I might add that the china designated as my latest
extravagance is likely to be its chief charm, if not exactly its reason
for being. Now I should say the next question is where to have it. And
as it’s such a glorious day, let’s go out and explore.”
The exploring expedition, being conducted by Madeline in true Bohemian
style, bid fair to degenerate into a progressive course luncheon,
leading from one of her favorite tea-shops to the next.
“But it’s very instructive,” she declared in answer to Babbie’s
protests. “I’ve made a beautiful collection of menu cards for us to
consider to-night. I’ll get Bob Enderby to do us a design that will
make a regular hit by itself. What’s that, Betty? Of course a menu
design isn’t the principal thing. But it will be a beautiful feature,
like the china. Well, this is the sixth cup of tea I’ve had, so I
don’t mind stopping now. If you girls don’t like my methods, suggest
something else. I think we’ve had a most entertaining morning, and
garnered in loads of valuable ideas.”
“Well, but what have we actually decided?” demanded Betty, the
matter-of-fact.
Madeline told off the points solemnly on her fingers. “To have
waitresses with soulful eyes and, if possible, adorable French accents.
To remember that it is the special features that people tell their
friends to go and see, but the food must be passable too, or they’ll
never come twice. To have immaculate linen, and china that matches. To
provide dusky corners for romantic couples.”
Babbie sniffed. “I hate romantic couples!”
“They order recklessly,” Madeline argued. “Therefore, for mercenary
considerations, they must be encouraged.”
“But aren’t those things we would have done anyway?” pursued Betty. “I
think we ought to find a place and get started, and then look out for
the features.”
Madeline considered. “That sounds sensible. Well, then, let’s discuss
sites.”
“Wouldn’t it be a good plan to know something definite about rents?”
suggested Betty, who foresaw that Madeline’s next move would be a
leisurely promenade up Fifth Avenue, which would be very pleasant but
productive of no tangible results.
“Rents--of course. I’ll tell you what!” Madeline had had another
inspiration. “I know a man who is in real estate--the one we rent our
place from. I’ll call him up and ask him if he’s too busy to enlighten
us this very afternoon.”
Madeline came back from the telephone in high spirits. “He will be
dee-lighted to see us. Oh, dee-lighted is out of fashion, isn’t it,
since I went away? Well, proud and happy then. Come along. It’s only a
little way from here, and we can do up the whole thing before dinner.”
But “the whole thing” proved much more complicated than Madeline had
supposed. The agent treated them in a businesslike way, which was
really very nice of him, Babbie said afterward, considering their vague
and even childlike ideas on the subject of what they wanted. He had
half a dozen suites on his books that seemed to Madeline suitable, and
she went over them easily, suggesting their respective advantages to
the other two girls, who were less familiar than she with the ins and
outs of New York life.
“This is really the best, I think,” she decided at last, pointing to a
Fifth Avenue address.
“It’s a rather expensive location,” suggested the agent politely. “But
perhaps that’s no object”--with a glance at Babbie’s exquisite little
figure.
“Oh, yes, it is,” Betty assured him solemnly. “You see we want to make
a lot of money. How much is the rent, please?”
The agent’s figures fairly took the girls’ breath away. “And I believe
they prefer a seven years’ lease,” he added.
“Seven years!” repeated Babbie incredulously. “Why, we shall all be
mar--dead in seven years, probably. A month’s rent at that rate would
take up about what I think mother meant to give me. But then she’ll
have to give me more. Which is the very cheapest place, please?”
The agent pointed it out, but it was only cheap by comparison.
And then, as if matters were not bad enough already, he made a
disheartening suggestion. “You ought to have at least capital enough
to keep you going for a year,” he said. “You couldn’t hope to make
much the first year, you know. That’s usually reckoned a dead loss, in
conservative business estimates, I believe.”
The girls exchanged glances of consternation.
“We’re very much obliged,” said Babbie, with a fine combination of
dignity and her sweetest smile. “But I’m afraid we can’t decide on
anything to-day. We may be back----”
“That’s all right,” the agent cut her short. “Always very glad to be of
service. Good-day.”
“He doesn’t want us to come back,” Babbie declared hotly, outside the
door. “He’s afraid we wouldn’t pay the rent on time.”
“We probably shouldn’t, any such rents as those,” Madeline assured her.
“We acted like babes in the wood, I suppose. Never mind. We’ll ask Bob
Enderby and Dick. They’ll know what to do. You were jolly right, Betty,
about beginning on the essentials.”
That night Mrs. Bob’s sitting-room was the scene of a solemn council
of war. Dick Blake was scribe, Henri, the Enderbys’ cook, who had once
conducted what Dick irreverently described as the slowest quick lunch
place in town, was called in as an expert, along with the girl in the
top flat, because her two cousins had had a tea-room, until one of them
discovered that drawing caricatures of the customers paid much better
than selling them sandwiches and tea.
“But it was a splendid thing--that tea-room,” explained the girl
earnestly, “because Arline never knew she could draw until then. She
sat at the desk, you see, and took checks, and there wasn’t much she
could do, so she got to sketching and thought it was fun, and went
into an evening class, and now she’s got two things in the big autumn
exhibit.”
“Listen to that,” cried Mr. Bob with enthusiasm. “Which of you is going
to sit at the desk?”
“I suppose I am,” confessed Betty, “and I haven’t the least talent for
drawing, so there won’t be any great artist discovered in our tea-room.”
“Well, my other cousin got married through the tea-room,” explained
the girl from the top flat, naively. “They sold candy there, and she
married the man they bought their candy boxes of. He’s a millionaire.”
“Hear! Hear!” cried Mr. Bob. “Now which of you is going to get the
millionaire?”
“Come, Bob, do be serious,” begged Madeline. “We want to get at the
facts.”
“A millionaire is a very valuable fact,” objected Mr. Bob flippantly.
“That’s all, Henri, except that we shall want an extra fine supper
by and by. Now, Miss Andrus, tell us some more about the profits of
tea-rooms, the legitimate ones, if Madeline insists upon it.”
But Miss Andrus was vague about “legitimate” profits. She only knew
that her cousin had had a darling shop, and had hated to give it up.
Then she went over to the piano and played dreamy music, while Richard
Blake and Mrs. Bob and the girls struggled with their estimates.
When they had finished, Madeline’s brow puckered. “It’s going to be
too big for us to swing, I think. Mrs. Hildreth might give you all
that money, Babbie, but I don’t think we ought to take it.” She swept
the papers together. “Enjoy our society while you have it, ladies and
gentlemen. To-morrow we’re going up to Harding to open a tea-room.”
“But, Madeline,” began Betty, “are you sure----”
“I’m not sure of anything except that rents are lower there, because it
would be absurd if they weren’t, and that those college girls eat and
eat, and they appreciate stunty features beyond anything. Now Cuyler’s
isn’t stunty and Holmes’s isn’t stunty. With that china and the menu
card that Bob is going to do for us--I forgot to ask you before, Bob,
but of course you will--and all the other features that we can easily
think up, why, at Harding our fortune is made. I can’t see how we ever
hesitated!”
“But if you go up there we can’t patronize you,” objected Mrs. Bob
forlornly.
“Oh, yes, you can,” Madeline assured her promptly, “you can motor up.
And Dick can see that your escapade gets into the society columns of
all the leading dailies. In a month it will be the fashion to motor up
from New York for a cup of tea.”
“Madeline,” said Dick severely, “you’re a persuasive sophist. Who holds
the controlling interest in this tea-room, anyhow?”
“Babbie, I suppose,” admitted Madeline cheerfully. “Because she
furnishes all the money--or all that’s worth mentioning, at least. But
Betty furnishes the sense, and I furnish the inspirations. Now what’s
the matter with that combination?”
“Aren’t you about through with your business?” demanded Mr. Bob
irrelevantly, from his place by the piano. “Because Miss Andrus is
hungry, and I’m starved.”
Betty partook of Henri’s famous club sandwiches and Turkish coffee in
forlorn silence. She ought not to have come. She ought to have realized
that Madeline’s haphazard methods were splendid for getting up college
“shows,” but not to be relied on when one’s bread and butter had to be
earned. Madeline was in a corner by the fire talking earnestly with
Mrs. Bob, who was saying something that made Madeline hug her and
presently rush over to Betty and Babbie to explain.
“The lovely Mrs. Bob wants to invest in our tea-room,” she told them.
“You say your mother spoke of four hundred, Babbie. Well, Mrs. Bob says
she’ll put in the same, and after Betty’s salary is paid and the other
expenses, the profits are to be divided--that’s what you said was
right, isn’t it, Dick?”
“But half my profits go to Madeline,” Mrs. Bob took her up, “for the
inspirations.”
“Then I know mother will want half hers to go that way, too,” put in
Babbie, “and I shall take the other half, to pay her up for being
pessimistic about profits. She just laughed when I spoke of them.”
“Well, it will be all kinds of fun, anyway,” said Madeline. “Goodness,
but I feel as if the worst was over now! Does any one know about early
trains up to Harding? By the way, father hasn’t cabled, so I suppose
this domicile is to let. Just spread the report, please, everybody,
and I’ll come back in a few days to see about it. It’s just as well,
because I suppose I’ve got to live in Harding now. I never could manage
long-distance inspirations.”
The three girls departed early to pack and telegraph Mary Brooks
Hinsdale that her “standing invitation” to come and visit her should
stand no longer unheeded by her little friends of old.
So perhaps it hadn’t been a wasted day after all, Betty thought,
falling asleep while Madeline was still busily discussing where they
should live in Harding, and how much they ought to pay the tea-shop for
their meals, if they ate them there.