THE SACRIFICE
Trixy met Glory in the hall. She appeared decidedly glad to do so.
“Where ever have you been, dear?” she demanded. “We looked everywhere
for you.”
“Why? What was the rush?” smiled Gloria, allowing Trixy and Jane time
to exchange greetings. They were well acquainted, both from the year
Gloria had spent in Sandford, which was Trixy’s home town, and the year
before that, at Barbend, Gloria’s homestead town.
“At the Rookery!” exclaimed Trixy. “I never dreamed you would be having
tea before noon. Jack’s lots better. Didn’t her mother come?”
“Better? Could she have seen--her--mother?”
“Yes, and she wanted to----”
Gloria’s look of distress checked Trixy. They were in the little
reception room, and Jane was glancing about her with apparent approval.
But Gloria wilted, and a sudden puckering of her lips threatened to
break out in stronger emotion.
“But it’s really better for Jack not to have seen her mother,” Trixy
soothed. “The doctor was here, and whatever he feared seems to have
passed over,” she explained, trying to infect Gloria with her own
smile. “Come on up and show Jane around. I’ll carry your bag, Janie,”
she promptly offered.
“You see,” Trixy continued, doing her best to entertain Jane and at the
same time to respect Gloria’s depression, “this is an off day. Those
who aren’t finishing essays are working hard on tests. I’ve just been
released.”
“And what about Glory? Could she spare all that while? I never did see
such a talker as that woman,” declared Jane. “And such crazy stories!
Though she had a way of makin’ you believe her, right enough. Glory
dear, you look fagged out. Throw yourself right down on that couch
and don’t mind Janey. My, what a pretty place you’ve got! I’m so glad
you’re real comfy.”
Gloria stepped behind the curtain and made signs to Trixy. These
interpreted meant “take care of her for a while.” Gloria’s face
pictured her keen disappointment. Tears were swimming in her eyes, her
lips trembled, she was plainly on the verge of a good cry.
“Come along, Janie, and let me show you around,” offered Trixy. “We’ll
leave Glo to straighten up some of her neglected tasks. This is a good
time to see our big study hall, and all the sacred nooks----”
“Glory dear, you’ll find the lavender in my bag. It always used to
help your headaches and I’m afraid you are brewing one,” predicted the
solicitous Jane. “There now, I’ll leave my things here on your bed, and
look around with Beatrix. You know I must get a train back----”
“Don’t talk of going back,” Gloria managed to say. “You’ve only
just got here. Don’t forget to show her the picture gallery, Trix,”
she suggested. “Some of those old ladies may have been neighbors of
Jane’s.” This was intended as a joke but it sounded more like a threat;
Gloria’s voice was so tragic.
A few minutes later the storm broke. Prone on the bed, a sobbing form
bore little resemblance to the usually vivacious Gloria.
“To lose it all for nothing!” she groaned. “Jack didn’t even need
all my--precious morning. And I wouldn’t dare tell her--about--the
necklace.”
But the sudden outburst could not be prolonged, for Jane must not see
her in this plight. Even the satisfaction of a good cry had to be
checked--Gloria got up, somehow, looked in the glass, but saw nothing.
Her eyes were still swimming, and how her throat ached!
That essay! Her first real school love! To have worked upon it so long,
and then to have met with such a stream of unavoidable interruptions!
If it had not been for dad---- But what girl does not know the pangs of
an unjust disappointment? To have made so useless a sacrifice!
Whether or not the motive was entirely flawless, it must be admitted,
that deep down in Gloria’s unexplored forces there remained a picture
of the country girl at boarding school, where unpleasant little stories
had preceded her. True, she was almost an orphan, whereas, the high
holding cousin Hazel had both parents, and many opportunities of
knowing such trifling mannerisms as are supposed to be stamped on a
girl with “finish,” but Gloria had had the big world of outdoors, with
the sea for a background and the hills for variety, and she was far
too clever to under value the knowledge of her own world in such a
chance as the prize essay afforded.
She wanted to show the girls!
And she wanted to delight her dad!
The drudgery of actually putting the proof upon paper in a simple
direct way, carefully worded and carefully spelled, (she had looked up
scores of words,) had proven greater than she had expected it would
be, but the task inspired interest as it grew, and now Gloria actually
loved the sketch, as she would have loved a journal of her happiest
days. But it would be impossible for her to finish the essay in the
short time left. The “commercial girls” were not boarders, and they all
completed their work before noon. Somehow Gloria now felt as if she
were wrapped in a cloud of crepe, black and smothering. Even Jane’s
long looked for visit was completely spoiled.
One or two spasms of rebellion finished the attack of self pity. Then
Gloria jerked herself up like a colt at the twinge of a smarting bite.
“All right,” she said to the image now scoffing at her from the mirror,
“I guess I’ll live through it.” After all, it was only a chance. The
unfinished sheets of paper would catch her eye although she was
avoiding their corner. It had been foolish to count so much on a mere
chance, she argued persistently.
But all this was not really why she was feeling the disappointment so
keenly. It was because Gloria instinctively tried her best to win in
any wholesome sport, and wasn’t it real sport to enter a contest with
girls from so many schools? To make use of a chance to express her own
original views on disputed theories?
Then, there was always her father, and his natural pride in her work.
And all future chances to do anything really worth while seemed so very
remote.
But Jack was better, she kept telling herself guiltily, for the news
brought her only a meager satisfaction. Why couldn’t the old doctor
have known? And why couldn’t old Alty have gone to the station herself
and attended to her own unpleasant business? Because the need was so
slight and the loss seemed truly crushing.
Trixy and Jane were coming back. She heard their voices, and made a
brave effort to look like herself for Jane’s sake. Deliberately she
gathered the unfinished essay and thrust it under the table cover.
That would be the end of it. There was no possibility of any time
extension, and Gloria was too big to believe in fairies.
“A lovely place, dear.” Jane expressed the opinion as she entered.
“And I’m sure you’ll do very fine work here. Have you written any more
stories?”
“Oh, stories, Jane dear,” deprecated Gloria, “those were silly dreams,
that I used to write when at home. School work is much more practical.
Sit down here near me and let’s talk.” She drew the dear old nurse down
beside her on the couch. “Jane, honey, Trixy does all she can for me,
but I do so miss you when--I get in trouble,” she snuggled gratefully.
“So that’s it, honey. You’re in trouble. Tell Janie all about it. Is
the string of beads in it too?”
“Somewhat,” admitted Gloria. “But first we must tell Trixy all about
it. You see, she’s a partner in that little mixup.”
“But your face is all--is it chapped from the wind?” Jane asked. The
outburst had left tell-tale marks after all.
“Rough treatment,” laughed Gloria, relinquishing her affectionate hold
on Jane long enough to dab a little alleviative powder on the shiniest
spots. “Have a chair close by, Trixy,” she offered presently, “and
listen to the story of the lost jools. I told you that string of beads
was hoodooed. It was.”
Trixy listened, more surprised at each startling statement, and as
Gloria related the happenings of the morning, telling of Mrs. Corday’s
positive declarations, that gems really had been hidden to frustrate an
Arab’s attempt to obtain them, she, herself, felt the tale grew more
remarkable with the re-telling.
“A circus!” exclaimed Trixy. “We suspected that from the first, didn’t
we, Glo? But how ever did Jack, dear as she is, get in here with circus
parents?”
“All explained satisfactorily,” replied Gloria. “But we can’t
cover every detail now. Jane will be dreaming of pirate’s caves
and gorgeously dressed ladies. Trix, you should have seen the much
maligned Steppy. Why, she’s a real model for the stylish-stout.
Splendid clothes, and such a lot of them, rather high colored hair
and complexion, but well done, I should say, though I’m no judge of
the art. And so far as I could discover, I found little trace of the
carping, grating-voiced female the girls all barked about. She did get
excited once or twice, when I spoke of Alty; but it seems she has a
grudge against the authorities here. Thinks they’re in league with some
lawyers to get Jack away from her.” Gloria paused and Trixy expressed
her own opinion. It included opposition to that of the other girls.
“I can just imagine how Mrs. Corday feels,” Gloria continued. “She has
not had all the opportunities of so called culture, but think what she
knows about real business.”
“That’s it, Glory,” remarked Jane. “Books and school houses give you a
good start but you’ve got to finish the race yourself. And there’s them
that wins who never had much of a start.”
“Of course,” Gloria reasoned, “she may be erratic. Didn’t you notice
how her eyes flashed and how she kept fumbling with the beads, Janie?”
“Not overly. If, as she said, she’s been a-lookin’ for that necklace so
long and she fell across it heels over head, you might say, no warnin’
nor suspicion, don’t you think she ought to be upset when the beads
dropped right off a strange girl’s neck, at her own feet on a deppo
floor?”
The girls both agreed with Jane. Then Gloria recalled another “high
spot” in the morning’s experience.
“One thing I thought queer,” she said, “was how the clue could have
been lost when it was held to be so precious. Mrs. Corday explained it
by saying that her husband was taken so suddenly ill he had not time to
put the necklace into his lawyer’s hands as he had intended to. She,
Mrs. Corday, never saw it, because it was delivered at the grounds by
the maker, just when she was obliged to leave and care for her sick
husband.”
“But who would receive and sign for such a valuable thing?” asked Trixy.
“Mrs. Corday’s assistant,” she said. “I forget what she called her. Was
it Stella, Janie?”
“Yes, I think that was it. I was so interested. My word, Beatrix, it
was better than a play to listen to. The way that woman can act, with
her face and hands.”
“Exactly,” laughed Gloria. “She acted with her face and hands. But,
Trix, she made one more interesting point. She asked me if we ever had
a girl here named Yvette Duval. It seems one of the confidential and
highly prized members of the flying horse squad bore that name. She
died and left a young daughter. While Mrs. Corday was nursing her sick
husband Mrs. Duval’s belongings were sent for. She didn’t say how old
the daughter was who was in school somewhere, but I suppose she might
be about like us. Trix,” exclaimed Gloria, suddenly, “if Jack doesn’t
know anything about the necklace and didn’t give it to us----”
“To you----”
“Well, to me, who did? Is the missing Yvette really here, and did she
pick up the necklace in her mother’s things by mistake?”
“Yvette,” repeated Trixy. “No one here with so fancy a name. The
best we can do is Bobbie, Jack, Pat, and plain every day Mary,” she
recounted.
“But I didn’t steal the necklace although I almost stole a trunk,”
declared Gloria. “Don’t forget that the trunk started all this.”
“I’m not,” assented Trixy.
“Was that a knock?” asked Jane, as a tap interrupted them.
“Miss Alton would like to speak to Miss Doane in the office,” chanted
Maggie through a crack in the door.
“Oh,” sighed Gloria. “All right,” she amended, and the mystery of the
trunk, necklace, and hidden gems was, for the time, dismissed.