"GIRLS ARE FUNNY THINGS."
"Girls are funny things" was Hugh John's favourite maxim; and he
forthwith proceeded to prove that boys are too, by making a point of
seeing Cissy Carter several times a week during his entire vacation.
Yet he was unhappy as often as he went to Oaklands, and only more
unhappy when he stayed away. On the whole, Cissy was much less frigid
than on that first memorable evening. But she never thawed entirely,
nor could Hugh John discover the least trace of the hair-brained
madcap of ancient days for whom his whole soul longed, in the
charmingly attired young lady whose talk and appearance were so much
beyond her years. But he shaved three or four times a day with his new
razors, sneaking hot water on the sly in order to catch up.
The last time he could hope to see her before going back to school for
his final term, was on the evening of a day when Hugh John had
successfully captained a team of schoolboys and visitors from the
surrounding country-houses against the best eleven which Edam could
produce. Cissy Carter had looked on with Mr. Courtenay Carling by her
side, while Captain (once General Napoleon) Smith made seventy-seven,
and carried out his still virgin bat amid the cheers of the
spectators, after having beaten the Edamites by four wickets, and with
only six minutes to spare in order to save the draw.
"Oh, well played!" cried Mr. Carling patronisingly, as Hugh John came
up, modestly swinging his bat as if he did as much every day of his
life; "I remember when I was at the 'Varsity----"
But Hugh John turned away without waiting to hear what happened to Mr.
Carling at the 'Varsity which he had honoured with his presence. It
chanced, however, that at that moment the young gentleman with the
moustache saw on the other side of the enclosure a lady of more mature
charms than those of his present companion, whose father also had a
great deal of influence--don't you know?--in the county. So in a
little while he excused himself and went over to talk with his new
friend in her carriage, afterwards driving home with her to "a quiet
family dinner."
Thus Cissy was left to return alone with Sammy, and she gathered up
her sunshade and gloves with an air of calm and surprising dignity.
Hugh John had meant to bid her an equally cool good night and stroll
off with the worshipful Toady Lion--who that day had kept wickets
"like a jolly little brick" (as his brother was good enough to say),
besides making a useful six before being run out. But somehow, when
the hero of the day went to say good-bye, he could not quite carry out
his programme, and found himself, against his will, offering in due
form to "see Miss Carter home."
Which shows that Hugh John, like his moustache, was growing up very
rapidly indeed, and learning how to adapt himself to circumstances. He
wondered what Ashwell Major would say if he knew. It would make him
sick, Hugh John thought; but after all, what was a fellow to do?
For the first mile they talked freely about the match, and Cissy
complimented him on his scoring. Then there fell a silence and
constraint upon them. They were approaching the historic stile. Hugh
John nerved himself for a daring venture.
"Do you remember what you once made me say here, Cissy?" he said. Miss
Carter turned upon him a perfectly well-bred stare of blankest
ignorance.
"No," she said, "I don't remember ever being here with you before."
"Oh, come, no humbug, Cissy--you could remember very well if you
wanted to," said Hugh John roughly. As he would have described it
himself, "his monkey was getting up. Cissy had better look out."
He took from his ticket-pocket the piece of the crooked sixpence,
which he had kept for more than three years in his schoolbox. "You
don't remember that either, I suppose?" he said with grave irony.
Cissy looked at the broken coin calmly--she would have given a great
deal if she had had a pincenez or a quizzing-glass to put up at that
point. But she did her best without either. Strangely, however, Hugh
John was not even irritated.
"No," she said at last, "it looks like half of a sixpence which
somebody has stepped upon. How quaint! Did you find it, or did some
one give it to you?"
They were at the stile now, and Hugh John helped Cissy over. The
grown-up swing of her skirt as she tripped down was masterly. It
looked so natural. On the other side they both stopped, faced about,
and set their elbows on the top almost as they had done three or four
years ago when--but so much had happened since then.
With even more serenity Hugh John took a small purse out of his
pocket. It was exceedingly dusty, as well it might be, for he had
picked it out from underneath the specially constructed grandstand at
the cricket ground. He opened it quietly, in spite of the unladylike
snatch which Cissy made as soon as she recognised it, dropping her
youngladyish hauteur in an instant. Hugh John held the dainty purse
high up out of her reach, and extracted from an inner compartment a
small piece of silver.
[Illustration: "IT LOOKS LIKE HALF OF A SIXPENCE WHICH SOMEBODY HAS
STEPPED UPON. HOW QUAINT!"]
"Give it back to me this moment," cried Cissy, who had lost all her
reserve, and suddenly grown whole years younger. "I didn't think any
one in the world could be so mean. But I might have known. Do you
hear--give it back to me, Hugh John."
With the utmost deliberation he snapped the catch and handed her the
purse. The bit of silver he fitted carefully to the first piece he had
taken from his ticket-pocket and held them up. They were the reunited
halves of the same crooked sixpence.
Then he looked at Cissy with some of her own former calmness.
He even offered her the second fragment of silver, whereupon with a
sudden petulant gesture she struck his hand up, and her own half of
the crooked sixpence flew into the air, flashed once in the rays of
the setting sun, and fell in the middle of the path.
Hugh John stood in front of her a moment silent. Then he spoke.
"Do you know, Cissy, you are a regular little fraud!"
And with that he suddenly caught the girl in his arms, kissed her
once, twice, thrice--and then sprang over the stile, and down towards
the river almost as swiftly as Prissy herself. The girl stood a moment
speechless with surprise and indignation. Then the tears leaped to her
eyes, and she stamped her foot.
"Oh, I hate you, I despise you!" she cried, putting all her injured
pride and anger into the indignant ring of her voice. "I'll never
speak to you again--not as long as I live, Hugh John Smith!"
And she turned away homeward, holding her head very high in the air.
She seemed to be biting her lips to keep back the tears which
threatened to overflow her cheeks. But just as she was leaving the
stile, curiously enough she cast sharply over her shoulder and all
round her the quick shy look of a startled fawn--and stooped to the
path. The next moment the bit of silver which had sparkled there was
gone, and Cissy Carter, with eyes still moist, but with the sweetest
and most wistful smile playing upon her face, was tripping homeward to
Oaklands to the tune of "The Girl I left behind me," which she liked
to whistle softly when she was sure no one was listening.
And at the end of every verse she gave a little skip, as if her heart
were light within her.
Girls are funny things.
Transcriber's note:
Inconsistent and archaic spelling, syntax, and punctuation retained.