A CITY OF TOWERS
Neither Dorothy McClain nor Victoria Drew possessed any real
acquaintance with New York City. Dorothy had been there only once as a
little girl of six years old on a shopping expedition with her mother.
Tory had arrived in New York with the friends from on board the steamer
that sailed from Cherbourg. She had, however, spent only a single night
at a hotel, leaving next morning for Westhaven, a few hours’ journey
away.
Therefore, the ride into the city was not sufficiently long to cover
the emotions it held for both girls. They were to spend four or five
days in the city, that Mr. Fenton declared the most beautiful and
stimulating in the world.
Tory did not agree with Mr. Fenton’s estimate of New York, but she was
willing to be convinced.
He was interested to watch the effect the great city might have upon
Tory’s impressionable nature, believing that Dorothy’s quieter outlook
would prove a comfortable balance.
The day was clear; there was no trace of the snowstorms that had left
patches of snow upon the fields and gardens of Westhaven.
Driving up Fifth Avenue to their hotel, a little beyond the center of
Manhattan Island, the atmosphere appeared more glistening than the
white face of the snow. The sun struck golden rays across the high
buildings, their towers seemed to swim in a clear light with a deep
blue sky above.
The people came and went so rapidly on the sidewalks that Tory and
Dorothy were aghast. Neither said anything, yet they were grateful
when a policeman halted the traffic and they were able to get a more
steadfast view of their surroundings.
Tory’s face shone, her dark eyes widened, her lips parted with that
eager expression of desire that her uncle loved and a little feared.
No one who had not known him as a boy would have believed that he too
once possessed her ardent interest in life. He had let so much slip by
him--a home, a family, a career. Were it possible, he did not intend
that Tory should sacrifice so much!
“It is a wonder city, a city of towers, Uncle Richard,” Tory whispered.
“I am not sure I like it so well as London and Paris. Somehow it
reminds me a little of both, and yet is like neither.”
Dorothy laughed.
“You know, Mr. Fenton, that sounds as Tory’s speeches so often do. So
many ideas come to her at once that she pours them out in a single
breath and makes her audience gather up the lost threads.
“If Lance is working here in New York I do not believe he is so unhappy
as Don and I usually think he is.”
Nothing save luncheon and placing their suitcases in their room kept
the two girls from going directly to Kara.
Tory had written her to say they would appear early in the afternoon.
The hospital was some distance uptown, but they reached it in an
amazingly short time by the subway.
Mr. Fenton escorted the girls, but left them at the hospital entrance,
promising to return later.
Tory’s arms were filled with red roses she had purchased from the
florist on the corner after they left the subway. Dorothy’s gift was
more modest, a bunch of claret-colored grapes.
Nevertheless, at the threshold of the hospital the girls halted.
“I don’t know exactly why, but I rather dread going in, don’t you,
Tory?” Dorothy murmured. “Oh, well, I presume you are not so stupid!
For a doctor’s daughter, I am singularly nervous about illness. And I
never have grown accustomed to the thought of Kara’s misfortune.”
The other girl shook her head.
“Let’s not talk of it now. Kara is waiting and might guess how we feel.”
Receiving uncertain directions from a nurse, the visitors wandered down
a scrupulously sanitary hall, to knock timidly upon a door, numbered 17.
It was Kara’s voice that answered: “Come in.”
When the door opened she moved toward them on two crutches, very timid
and haltingly.
Before they could do more than exclaim, she seated herself in a chair,
the old humorous expression about the corners of her lips and eyes
reappearing.
“I am not a pedestrian yet. But this is better than sitting still
forever. Come here and let me embrace you both at once. Dorothy,
please see that Tory does not weep and spoil my red roses. I suppose
they are mine.”
After a little the girls found cushions and placed themselves on the
floor at Kara’s feet.
“Now tell me every single thing that has happened since I left,” she
said. “Don’t think anything is too unimportant.”
“But, Kara, won’t you tell us first? It is so hard to wait,” Tory
pleaded.
No need to inquire what she meant.
The thin face with the beautiful gray eyes and long dark lashes, the
lips grown thinner and less colorful in these past months, slowly
parted.
“There is not so much to tell you as I hoped when I wrote you. Waiting
and hoping are still my passwords.
“I am far happier. See the lovely things I have made! I have been
practicing dress-making and weaving and basket-making, whatever I can
do with my hands. I want you to take what you wish for gifts and show
the rest to our Girl Scout Council so that I may pass my proficiency
tests. I am afraid I cannot manage to be a First Class Scout so soon as
the other girls, but I don’t want to fall too far behind.”
“If the decision were mine you would be a First Class Scout now, Kara.
By the way, we have brought you a banner.” Dorothy unrolled a package.
It revealed one of the banners that had hung among the evergreens high
up on the wall of the House in the Woods on Christmas Eve.
“We were to declare you one of the Knights of our Round Table, Kara.”
Tory smiled. “I have an order from King Arthur. Do you wish to be Sir
Boris, whose eyes were an outdoor sign of all the warmth within, or Sir
Lancelot, ‘his warrior, whom King Arthur loved and honored most, first
in tournament’?”
Kara shook her head with emphasis, her eyes resting with affection and
amusement on one of the faces upturned toward hers.
“Good gracious, I don’t wish to be any kind of Knight of any Round
Table! For me it is enough to be a Girl Scout. I am sure the idea of
the Girl Scouts of the Round Table originated with you, Tory.”
Tory flushed.
“Yes, there isn’t any harm. The Girl Scout organization does not
object. The truth is we were not so interested in our Girl Scout work
this winter as we had been in the past. We missed being together at
camp and the outdoor sports and opportunities. Then, too, we missed
you, Kara. Miss Mason realized this and we talked things over together,
wondering what we had best do. Then one night when I was alone at Miss
Frean’s I read the story of the Round Table. Later we decided to have a
Round Table of our own. Few of our winter meetings can take place out
of doors, so we have decided to hold our Patrol meetings about a round
table. On our banners we can embroider whatever good deeds we have
accomplished. The other girls are pleased with the idea, Kara, but you
are always a practical person to the last.”
“I am interested, Tory, only I am too much an outsider now to
understand.
“I have one important piece of news. Remember the letters found in the
evergreen cottage at the close of our holiday in Beechwood Forest? I
gave them to Mr. Hammond for safe keeping, when I believed they had
nothing to do with the fact that I was found deserted in the cabin
years before. You know Mr. and Mrs. Hammond are in town and often bring
Lucy to see me.
“Well, the other day Mr. Hammond by chance observed an advertisement in
a morning paper signed with the name used in one of the old letters.
The advertisement asked that some one from Westhaven communicate with
the writer. Mr. Hammond wrote and is to see the person next week. Not
one chance in a thousand that your humble servant is connected with
the mystery! But Mr. Hammond and I decided that it was one way to keep
oneself from being dull.”
“I am afraid it does not sound very hopeful, dear,” Dorothy answered
reluctantly. “Would you like to hear about Lance?”
At this instant there was a knock on the door and before Kara could
reply a nurse suggested that the visit must end.
The girls might return another afternoon, but a half hour’s call was
all that was allowed at one time.