A BOBBED HEAD
As Leonard Grimshaw’s hair gradually deserted him, he brushed it up in a
more and more aggressive tuft; and as he entered the White Room now he
reminded Hugh of a cockatoo, with his crest and his slender, sharp nose
and shell-rimmed spectacles.
“Excuse the intrusion,” he said in his most dignified and ladylike
manner, and, as he gazed at the one-eyed warrior, his nostrils dilated.
Cigarette smoke was curling above the immaculateness of the bed. “I come
at Miss Frink’s behest to get your suit of clothes,” he added coldly.
Hugh removed his cigarette. “What you going to do with it?” he asked in a
rather hollow voice. “Any needy scarecrows in Farrandale?”
The secretary did not like the stranger’s nonchalant manner and he
declined to smile.
“I am to send it to your tailor to be duplicated. Miss Frink proposes to
pay for it.”
“She’ll have to if anybody does,” remarked Hugh feebly. “I’m broke.
Awfully good of you, Mr.—Mr.—”
“Grimshaw. I am Miss Frink’s private secretary and man of affairs.”
“Pompous little birdie,” thought Hugh, and he regarded his visitor
closely with his one eye, remembering John Ogden’s reference to the
pussy-footing secretary who was to be Miss Frink’s heir.
The nurse brought the suit to the bedside for Hugh to empty the
pockets. There was the photograph in its worn leather case, a card,
a handkerchief, some keys, a knife, but the suit being new had not
accumulated the usual papers and old letters. There was a spotless
pocketbook or billfold, and Hugh smiled ruefully at sight of it. He knew
its contents.
“All right,” he said, and left the lot in the nurse’s hands.
The secretary continued to stare disapprovingly at the smoke-wreathed
bed. As he accepted the dilapidated suit from the nurse, he spoke again:
“I feel I should tell you, Mr. Stanwood, that tobacco is very offensive
to Miss Frink, especially in the form of cigarettes. Of course, you have
put us under great obligation” (Hugh noted the “us”), “but I must warn
you that we cannot allow the atmosphere of the house to be vitiated and
made disagreeable for Miss Frink.”
Hugh smiled faintly toward the speaker. “Fine of you to look out for
her,” he said. “Might shut the transom, nurse.”
The secretary’s full lips drew together and he glared at this
self-possession. Insolence, he called it. Of course, the man was injured,
but, in consideration of such hospitality as was being shown him, he
might at least act promptly upon such information.
Leonard returned to Mrs. Lumbard flushed, and with the little crack in
his voice that came with excitement.
“Lying there, smoking like a young nabob,” he reported. “I told him Miss
Frink’s horror of tobacco, and he merely asked the nurse to close the
transom. Such nerve!”
“Yes,” returned Adèle, interested, “we surely knew already that he had
nerve: and isn’t he a beauty?”
“Oh, certainly,” returned the other, throwing down the clothes on a table
with a vigor that suggested a wish that the owner was occupying them.
“Head all bandaged but one eye, arm bundled up, a general wreck.”
“Let him smoke, then, poor thing, while Aunt Susanna is off showing
Farrandale what she’s made of. It will be his last for one while.”
It was, indeed, Hugh’s last indulgence because a high fever took
possession of the young adventurer that night, and for a few days Miss
Frink’s physician was a busy man. She paid scant attention to her other
interests until the boy was sane again; and, although she kept to the
usual hours in her study, the nurse was instructed to report to her at
short intervals.
“It does seem, Miss Frink, as if we ought to send for his Aunt Sukey,”
said this attractive young woman on one occasion. “He calls for her
incessantly.”
Miss Frink drew her features together in the sudden grimace which sent
her eyeglasses off her nose.
“How are we going to do that? You looked through that little trunk of
his, I suppose, as I told you?”
“Yes. There wasn’t a scrap of paper in there, and this is all that was in
his pockets.”
The nurse produced the photograph case and a business card.
Miss Frink examined them. “Yes, there’s John Ogden’s card. I could send
for him, but I don’t care to have him see just what I managed to do to
his protégé in a few hours. Unless the boy’s in danger, I won’t send, as
yet.” Miss Frink looked long at the photograph.
“Might be his sister,” she said. “There’s a resemblance. I hope it isn’t
a best girl. He’s too young to be hampered.”
Leonard Grimshaw looked over her shoulder at the picture. His employer
glanced at him with a humorous twist of her thin lips.
“You’ve kept free, eh, Grim?”
“I had interests which came first,” responded the secretary, with the
reproving tone which he reserved for implications that he had time for
any thought separate from Miss Frink’s affairs.
That lady returned the old morocco case and the card to the nurse.
“Keep careful watch,” she said, “and ask Dr. Morton to report to me at
his next visit. I wish to send for Mr. Ogden if there is occasion for
anxiety.”
The nurse left the room, and the secretary turned adoring eyes upon his
employer.
“If you ever thought of yourself, Miss Frink, you would see Dr. Morton on
your own account. After the shock you have endured, and the heroism with
which you returned to the excitement of the banquet, it stands to reason
that your nerves should have a tonic.”
“Fiddlesticks, Grim. I’m all right. All the tonic I need is to know that
I haven’t killed that boy upstairs.”
“Don’t worry about him,” said the secretary, looking severely through
his dark-rimmed spectacles. “Other husky men have survived a broken arm
and a bumped head, and I dare say he will. I feel that I ought to warn
you that he is a person of no delicacy.”
Miss Frink regarded the speaker with narrowed eyes.
“I rather suspected that,” she said slowly, “by the way he grabbed my
horses’ heads.”
The secretary flushed, but continued indomitably: “Physical bravery
is often allied with a thick-skinned mentality. I think for your own
protection you should know what I found when I went to the White Room to
get his suit.” He paused dramatically.
Miss Frink winked off her glasses again and returned the spectacled gaze
with deep interest. “He was kissing the nurse, perhaps,” she said. “She
is a sweet thing.”
“Miss Frink!” The exclamation was scandalized as her secretary regarded
his lady of the old school with real amazement. “No. He was not kissing
the nurse, but he was doing what would affect your comfort far more. He
was smoking cigarettes.”
Miss Frink surprised her companion still further by laughing.
“Didn’t you hear him ask me for one in the motor? Now, I say he was
clever, with only one arm and one eye, and laid low in bed, to manage to
get cigarettes.”
Grimshaw stared. “It must have been Dr. Morton,” he said after a pause;
“but the point is that, when I told him you detested them, he didn’t
stop.”
“He smiled, perhaps?” Miss Frink did, herself.
“I don’t remember; but I wasn’t going to stand for that, you may be sure,
and I told him we couldn’t have the atmosphere of this house—your house,
vitiated.”
“Vitiated,” repeated Miss Frink musingly, “Fine word, Vitiated.”
“Growing childish, upon my soul,” thought the secretary. “The first
break!”
“The point is,” he declared with dignity, “the significant point is, that
he did not stop smoking. He asked the nurse to close the transom.”
“Poor boy, he needn’t have done that,” said Miss Frink; “and, by the way,
Dr. Morton didn’t give him the cigarettes.”
“I suppose he got around the nurse, then.”
“No. She isn’t guilty either; and, Grim”—Miss Frink paused and put back
her eyeglasses through which she regarded the faithful one steadily—“I
am entirely prepared to go around wearing a gas-mask if necessary. I
might be needing one now for brimstone if it wasn’t for that boy, and he
is going to have any plaything it occurs to him to want. Now, let’s get
at these letters.”
Her secretary blinked, and put one hand to his temporarily whirling head,
while with the other he automatically gathered up the mail.
* * * * *
When, toward the close of that eventful gala day at Farrandale, Miss
Frink had courageously returned to the scene of the festivities, two
girls witnessed the burst of applause which greeted her as she stepped
from her secretary’s motor.
One of them, a typical flapper, her hair and her skirt equally bobbed,
gazed balefully at the apparition of the lady of the old school as she
bowed in response to the plaudits of her townspeople. The other, a
gentle-looking, blonde girl, smiled unconsciously at the black satin
figure, as she joined in the applause.
The eyes of the flapper snapped. “You shan’t do it, Millicent,” she said,
pulling her friend’s clapping hands apart.
“I must,” laughed Millicent. “I’m a loyal Ross-Grahamite.”
They were sitting in that part of the grandstand which had not
embarrassed Rex and Regina by falling.
“You can’t be loyal to her and to me, too. She fired me yesterday.”
“Oh, Damaris,” said the blonde girl sympathetically. “What happened?”
“This,” said Damaris indicating her dark short locks.
“Just because you had your hair bobbed? But you ought to have known. She
won’t allow any clerk in the store with bobbed hair.”
“It’s a wonder she doesn’t insist that all the men let theirs grow in a
braid,” said Damaris scornfully. “Powdered hair and a queue would just
suit her, I’ll bet.”
“I’m very sorry you lost the position,” said Millicent. “You really liked
reading to her.”
“Well, yes, in a way. I liked the salary; but it cramped my style awfully
to go near the woman. I was always deadly afraid I’d say something that
wasn’t in the book, and I used to repeat ‘prunes and prisms’ all the way
from my house to her gate to get ready. I’ll never look at a prune again,
nor go near a prism.”
“Wasn’t she agreeable to work for? I never spoke to her, but she comes
through the store quite often to look things over, and I think she’s
wonderful. You can feel her power—something like Queen Elizabeth. Just
think of her grit coming back here this afternoon. Everybody says she had
a miraculous escape. It must have been an awful shock.”
“I take a little comfort out of that,” remarked Damaris coolly. “You may
be sure it was the man that was nearly killed. She’s indestructible, all
right.”
The girls glanced down at the seat of honor where Miss Frink was
enthroned during the last speech of the afternoon, preluding adjournment
of the leading citizens to the banquet.
“How did you get the position, Damaris?”
“Through my unbearable cousin, Leonard Grimshaw. He’s her secretary.”
“Well, you’re an ungrateful rascal!” laughed Millicent. “I’ve seen Mr.
Grimshaw often in the store”—the speaker caught her breath and turned
grave. “He calls for grandpa’s rent, too.”
“That nose of his,” said Damaris, “got its shape entirely from poking
into other people’s affairs.”
“Who is the pretty lady with white hair who is with him so often?”
“Adèle Lumbard, a _divorcée_; no relation of Miss Frink’s, but calls
her ‘Aunt.’ Think of the lady of the old school having to house a
_divorcée_! It seems that Mrs. Lumbard’s grandmother was Miss Frink’s
best friend, the only person, I guess, she ever loved in her life. So,
when this girl’s marriage turned out unhappily, I rather think Miss Frink
guessed the fault wasn’t all on one side, and I’m just sure Miss Frink
took Mrs. Lumbard in as an offering to her friend who died long ago. I’m
just sure of it because it’s so plain the old woman doesn’t love her any
more than she does anybody else; only I think she wants to know where
Adèle is, evenings.”
“Why, Damaris! How imaginative you are. Why doesn’t Mrs. Lumbard read to
her, then?”
“Yes, why doesn’t she? Just because Adèle’s reading is one of the 157
varieties of things Miss Frink doesn’t like.”
“And she liked yours,” said Millicent, her gentle voice sympathetic again.
“Yes; Leonard got her to try me, and though she didn’t throw me any
bouquets she engaged me; but she informed me yesterday when we went to
the mat, that my skirts had always distressed her by being so short,
and now my hair settled it.” The speaker shook her fluffy mane. “I met
Leonard when I went into the house, and he looked me over with his
owl-eyes, and said: ‘You little fool, you’ve done for yourself now.’ And
I had, you see.”
“Is he always so affectionate?”
“Yes, as affectionate as a snapping turtle; but Mother looks up to him as
a great man because he’s closest to Miss Frink of anybody, and everybody
believes he’ll be her heir.”
“Will he help you again?”
Damaris shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose not. Why don’t you and I open
a Beauty Parlor?”
“One reason is that we haven’t any money.”
“Would you if we had?”
Millicent shook her head. “I can’t take any chances, Damaris, you know
that. My best plan is not to bob my hair and stick close to Ross-Graham.
Grandfather’s pension is so small, and our house is old and we have to
keep it in repair, and that costs. Mr. Grimshaw says our rent is so small
he can’t do anything; but not a day passes that we don’t remember to be
thankful for the ground being big enough for Grandpa’s garden. We’re very
happy.”
Damaris looked curiously into the hazel eyes regarding her, so full of
the warmth of sincerity.
“You’d be a wonderful partner, Millicent. Even at school I used to feel
there was a sort of—well, a sort of perfume around where you were.”
Millicent laughed. “Damaris, is that a compliment?”
“Well, sweetness, anyway. You’d get around the customers every time.
You’d really like them. I would, too, if I could make ’em look pretty.
I’d like to have Miss Frink come in! Wouldn’t I do her up! Gosh, what
she’d look like when she got out of the chair. Leonard, too. Wouldn’t
I like to give Leonard scalp massage!” The speaker made a threatening
gesture.
“Damaris!”
“Don’t swear, dear. Say, you haven’t told me how snappy I look. ‘Chick’s’
the word, isn’t it?”
Millicent looked at the dark, sparkling face. “Yes, but I wish you hadn’t
done it, dear.”
“Well,” Damaris sighed. “I can’t put it back. Mother wept, but I bet I’ll
get something just as good. Mother felt it was so refined to go to that
grand house every day and get Miss Frink to sleep.”
“To sleep?”
“Yes, I read to her after lunch every day, and I always left her asleep.
That was my job.”
Applause for the speech sounded, and Miss Frink rose.
“There she goes,” said Millicent as they watched the tall black satin
figure rise and take the arm of the Mayor. “Wonderful! She’s wonderful!”
“Yes,” said Damaris. “They say the man that stopped the runaway was
awfully hurt. He may be dead by this time, but what cares she? She’s back
on her job, Queen of Farrandale.”
“But she took him to her own home,” said Millicent.
“Yes,” Damaris smiled. “In Leonard’s car, they say. I’ll bet he writhed.
Good enough for him. I hope—”
“No, you don’t. Now, stop, Damaris. Let us get your mother, and both of
you come home with me to supper.”
“Well, that would be awfully nice, Millicent,” returned the girl more
gently. “You smell sweeter than usual.” The bobbed head was somewhat
lowered. “You can comfort Mother if anybody can.”