AN UNWRITTEN STORY
To say good-by to his family and friends before sailing for Europe,
Lance McClain also came back to Westhaven for a few days’ visit.
The visit was not so satisfactory as Kara’s to her friends across the
way, because Lance was moody and restless and not, as one would have
expected, especially happy.
It may be that he was troubled over the thought of leaving his father
and sister and his favorite brother, Donald; if this were true, he made
no such confession.
The days were busy ones, as Lance had to be made ready for his trip
of the summer and perhaps a longer time abroad, and no one in Dr.
McClain’s household knew just what he would require, nor how to set
about getting his outfit in the least extravagant fashion.
The wardrobes of the various members of Dr. McClain’s family had never
played important parts in their lives. The oldest of the brothers, who
had gone away to college for two years, had passed though a brief
period of fashionable airs. The others either laughing or failing to
notice, and by and by settling down to a business career in Westhaven,
Jonathan McClain had forgotten. The other boys, when the doctor’s
receipts were fair, boasted two suits a year, and borrowed and hooked
one another’s choicest possessions upon special occasions.
Dorothy, as the only daughter, might have had greater indulgences.
Every now and then Dr. McClain regarded her half wistfully and half
critically, begging her to tell him if she was as well looked after as
the other girls who were her friends and had mothers. Dorothy used only
to laugh at him and insist that she possessed everything in the world
she required, promising to inform him the instant she found herself in
need. The truth was that Dorothy, with her half-boyish attitude toward
life, so far had given little consideration to the question of her own
costumes.
Of the girls in her Patrol, only Teresa Peterson was really intensely
interested in the subject up to the present time, although several of
the other girls showed unmistakable signs of increasing concern.
Now with the problem of Lance to be immediately solved, Dorothy wished
she had developed more feminine knowledge and taste, at least where her
brothers were concerned.
Mr. Moore, Lance’s friend, and in some measure Kara’s guardian,
although she had not agreed to legal adoption, had offered to supply
him with whatever might be missing from his present outfit. This Dr.
McClain utterly refused to consider. Trying enough to his pride and
sense of responsibility to permit Lance’s other expenses to be paid by
almost a complete stranger! In the face of Lance’s impassioned desire
and pleading he could not refuse, but certainly the boy should not
start off like a pauper!
What made conditions more difficult for Dorothy and the elderly
housekeeper was, that having delivered this ultimatum, neither the
Doctor nor Lance appeared to have any further concern in the matter.
All they did was to drive around together, not talking a great deal,
Lance simply sitting quietly with his father and waiting for him in the
ancient automobile when he disappeared to make his daily calls.
On the afternoon before Lance was to return to New York Dorothy was
complaining of this difficulty before a group of intimate friends upon
the back veranda of the old Fenton house.
Hand in hand, like a little girl and boy, Lance and Dorothy had run
across the street to say farewell to Tory and Kara, as Lance was to go
back to town a little earlier than his traveling companion.
Ten minutes after their arrival, Don had followed, not wishing to be
left out.
They had drifted out upon the back porch after drinking hot chocolate
in the dining-room and eating one of Sarah’s cakes, especially baked
for the farewell feast.
The spring afternoon was chilly and the back garden looked slightly
forbidding. The grass was only faintly green, Miss Victoria’s favorite
shrubs were still wrapped in straw and the birds in the old fruit trees
appeared to have no animation save to seek shelter.
Comfortably clad in coats and overcoats, the little group on the porch
revealed no such lack of spirit.
Kara was in her usual chair, Tory on a cushion beside her. Dorothy sat
on the porch railing, Lance near her and Don standing a few feet away.
Five minutes before they had other guests: three Boy Scouts in Lance’s
and Don’s Patrol. Having said their good-bys, they had marched off
together, glad the always painful duty was over.
“I trust Lance won’t prove a disgrace to you and Mr. Moore, Kara,”
Dorothy continued. “He and father have solemnly promised me to purchase
his going-away suit and overcoat the day before he sails. You know
father will be in New York to see you both off. At times I feel I would
like to be with him, and then again I don’t trust myself.”
Tory Drew gazed thoughtfully from one of her friends to the other,
omitting no one of them. She saw Kara pale and wistful and more than a
little frightened over the strange journey ahead of her with her almost
unknown friend and Lance. She saw Lance troubled at parting with the
dearest members of his family, yet tense with dreams, sorry to be going
and eager to set off. She saw Don puzzled and annoyed by Lance and
nevertheless proud of him, for Don did not approve of Lance’s accepting
Mr. Moore’s kindness. Too much it would have hurt his own self-respect.
He did not believe Lance should leave his father, knowing how much
his father cared for him beyond his other sons. He simply could not
understand that, although Lance could see these things in a measure
as he did, he cared more for his music. Nor could Don appreciate that
Lance had the artist’s idea that once he succeeded he could more than
repay all he had accepted.
The sight of Don’s face touched Tory and gave her a sensation of warm
championship she never felt for his more gifted brother. Don looked so
strong and good-natured and steadfast.
At the last Tory’s eyes caught Dorothy’s glance.
“Think it much wiser for us to remain in Westhaven, Dorothy dear, and
have no tragic farewells! Kara insists she won’t have me in New York at
the last.”
Kara smiled.
“I don’t think you need worry over Lance in relation to Mr. Moore or
me, Dorothy,” Kara returned. “I am the outsider in the group. They
are already great friends and must know each other’s peculiarities.
Besides, Lance is sure to make Mr. Moore proud of him, and the rest of
us as well. Fortunately for me, I shall not have to interfere seriously
with their plans. Mr. Moore has promised to place me in a sanitarium
and then to forget all about me for a time.”
Lance crossed over to the girl’s chair.
They had never been especial friends. In fact, Lance had been a little
embarrassed by Kara’s humor and practical good sense. He had not
cared for any girl as he did his sister Dorothy and, next to Dorothy,
her two friends, Tory Drew and Louise Miller. But now he and Kara
were to be thrown into an unusual and unexpected intimacy. Moreover,
Kara’s present trouble appealed to Lance’s latent chivalry. He was not
possessed of this characteristic in the same degree as Don. Lance had
had too much care taken of him in the past. Nevertheless, he was moved
by Kara’s last speech.
“We shall not leave you anywhere and forget you, Kara. Mr. Moore thinks
of you more than you dream and would do anything in his power to make
up to you for the lost years.”
This time Kara shook her head.
“They were not _lost_ years, not for me, Lance, and assuredly not for
Mr. Moore. I have told all of you a dozen times that I would rather
have been brought up in the orphan asylum which I choose to call by the
dear old title of the ‘Gray House on the Hill’ than as the ward of Mr.
Moore. I am not ungrateful to him, but how would I then have known
Tory and Dorothy and you and Don and Miss Victoria and all my other
friends in Westhaven?”
Lance appeared honestly puzzled.
He could not help believing Kara. She gave one the impression of
absolute sincerity, yet it was difficult for him to accept her point of
view. He would like to have had the advantages that undoubtedly would
have been Kara’s had she occupied the position Mr. Moore would have
given her.
“Never mind, Kara. What I meant was that you can always count upon me
at any time or under any circumstances. If we should be separated in
Europe, all that will ever be necessary is for you to let me know you
want me. I will come to you no matter how long we stay over on the
other side.”
Dorothy slipped down from her perch.
“Don’t be tiresome, Lance. You talk as if you and Kara would be away
years rather than months!” She looked worried and irritated.
Apparently Lance had not heard.
He was standing close beside Donald and had thrown one arm about his
shoulder.
This was once a favorite attitude between the twin brothers, Tory
recalled. They had become less intimate, and this afternoon before
Lance’s departure were both aware of the fact and regretting it. As
usual, expression came more easily to Lance.
“You will look after Dorothy and Tory and Louise and the best beloved
of the Girl Scouts whenever they need help, Don. This goes without
saying, so it is only fair I should try to be useful to Kara once in a
while.
“You are reconciled to my going, aren’t you, Don?”
“Wouldn’t make any difference whether I was or not,” Don answered
ungraciously, yet his blue eyes softened.
The dusk was descending and Lance’s final speech to Kara had added to
Dorothy’s restlessness and discomfort.
“It is time we were saying good-night, Lance; you will wish to tell
Tory good-by.”
The boy crossed over and held out his long-fingered, slender hand.
As Tory’s own fingers closed over it, she had a sensation of being
ashamed of an emotion and of hoping Lance would not guess. She was not
so sorry at his departure as she had thought she would be. Life would
be more peaceful and agreeable at the old McClain house with Lance
away, even if more humdrum. She would have more of Dorothy’s and Don’s
society for herself.
“I do hope you will have great success, Lance, and be a celebrated
musician some day,” she said with all the cordiality she honestly felt
in this connection.
It was the suggestion that always humbled Lance.
“I am afraid that will never be, Tory, but thank you just the same. I
suppose you can’t say you are sorry I am going away.”
Lance’s expression was the quizzical one that the girl often found
annoying. He appeared hurt as well this afternoon.
“Of course I am sorry in a way, Lance,” she answered truthfully enough.
“But realizing how you want to go yourself, isn’t it asking a great
deal to have us feel all the regret? Don’t forget us and Westhaven
while you are gone. Long ago father and I decided never to say good-by
to any one, so good-night and good luck.”