MEETING HER MATCH
“Why won’t you go to New York over Thanksgiving, Leslie?” Doris Monroe’s
accustomed indifferent drawl quickened to longing exasperation, all but
ready to burst bounds.
“Don’t choose to,” came with laconic self-will from Leslie Cairns. She
cast an insolent, inquiring glance toward Doris who was busy driving the
white car which Leslie had named the Dazzler and loaned Doris for her
own use. The pretty sophomore’s injured expression brought a faintly
mocking smile to Leslie’s loose-lipped mouth.
“Oh, I know you don’t choose to,” declared Doris in a purposely weary
tone. She continued to keep her eyes steadily on the road ahead. “_Why_
don’t you choose to?” she questioned, growing more pointed.
“You ought to know without asking,” Leslie grumbled. “You are just like
Natalie Weyman, my New York pal. You can’t remember, or be taught to
remember, that business is business. Nat is as crazy to have me go to
the Weyman’s New York house for Thanksgiving as you are to have me go
with you to New York. I can’t see either of you when I have so much at
stake here.”
“I beg your pardon.” Doris turned politely chilling. “I had no intention
of breaking in upon yours and Miss Weyman’s plans.” Her coolness arose
not from jealousy. Leslie’s rebuff had hurt her pride. She had more than
once suspected that Leslie’s frequent allusions to “my pal, Nat,” were
made simply to arouse her jealousy.
Doris was too comfortably wrapped up in self to be jealous-hearted. She
had a private conviction that a girl who might prefer the friendship of
another girl above her own was of small consequence.
Frowning, Leslie shot a second glance at Doris. Her shrewd dark eyes
read mainly in Doris’s lovely blonde profile supreme discontent at not
being able to have her own way.
“You didn’t break into anything,” Leslie gruffly assured. “That is what
you and Nat Weyman seem possessed to try to do, though.”
“What do you mean, Leslie?” Doris turned offended eyes for a brief
second on her companion.
“I mean you two seem determined to wreck the promising business career
of Leslie Adoré Cairns,” Leslie retorted with grim humor.
“Adoré!” Doris exclaimed irrelevantly. “What a darling name!”
“Just suits me, doesn’t it?” Leslie threw back her head and indulged in
her silent hob-goblin laugh.
“No, it doesn’t,” Doris said with amazing candor; “but it might.”
“What?” For once Leslie’s pet monosyllable burst involuntarily from her
lips.
“I said it might suit you,” calmly returned Doris, “if you would try to
make it suit you. You’ve loads of personality, Leslie; the kind that
would make people like you a lot if you cared to have them like you.”
“I’m not keen on having people like me, even if I do happen to have a
foolish middle name.” From interest Leslie’s tone had quickly changed to
one of mild derision. “I mean I wouldn’t lift my finger in order to
stand well with a gang of girls. That’s the way Bean made herself
popular on the campus; pretending to be so kind and helpful; setting up
goody-goody standards and poking her inquisitive nose into a lot of
things that didn’t concern her. Then there was the Beauty contest. She
won that. It gave her a strong pull with the upper class girls. All
except the Sans.” Leslie’s displeasure against Marjorie rose with the
recital of past troubles. “They _knew_ the judges at the contest hadn’t
played fairly. Nat Weyman should have won the contest. Wish you’d been a
freshie that year. Bean wouldn’t have had a look-in.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure of that,” disagreed Doris, with intent to be
provoking. “Miss Dean is really beautiful, Leslie. I’d hate to believe
that she is more beautiful than I. Sometimes I’m not sure but that she
is,” Doris gave a self-conscious, half rueful laugh.
“What ails you?” Leslie demanded darkly. “I thought you said you had no
use for Bean and her crowd. Look where you’re going. You almost zipped
us into that limousine.”
Doris’s honest, if reluctant, opinion of Marjorie fanned the flame of
Leslie’s too-ready ill humor. She immediately vented it upon Doris’s
driving.
“_No_, I did _not_ almost run the car into that limousine,” was the
other girl’s flat contradiction. “What is the use in growing peevish
with me, Leslie? You know I detest Miss Dean and that Sanford crowd. The
only one of them who appears in the least interesting is Miss Harding.
She’s a barbarian, but she has individuality. I can’t forget she’s on
earth, you know, since I have her as a room-mate.”
As she spoke Doris had slowed the speed of the car for a stop before the
Lotus, the tea room where they had decided to go for a Saturday
afternoon luncheon.
“She’s a savage; so is Macy.” Leslie invariably referred to Muriel and
Jerry as “those two savages.” “She’s clever, too, that Muriel Harding.
The Sans would have taken up with her and Macy and Lynde when they came
to Hamilton if they hadn’t been so crazy about Bean. Macy’s father’s a
millionaire and Lynde’s father is a multi-million man. Harding would
have got across on her nerve. All three rallied round the Bean standard
and lost out with the Sans.”
It was on Doris’s tongue to say: “Then they were lucky, after all, since
the Sans were expelled from college.” Instead she held her peace. She
intended to try once more to coax Leslie to re-consider her decision not
to go to New York. Such a remark from her now about the Sans would only
stir Leslie into fresh irritation.
Doris sent a backward, lingering glance toward the shining white car as
the two girls started up the wide cement walk to the tea room.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be there when we come back,” Leslie said with a half
mollified smile. Doris’s proud anxiety concerning the white car was not
lost on her. It suited Leslie to pose as a benefactor.
“It’s such a dream,” sighed Doris. Her color heightened; her blue eyes
shone starry triumph of the smart white roadster.
“I’ve engaged a Thanksgiving table already at the Colonial,” Leslie
announced, tucking her arm inside one of Doris’s. “I tried to get one at
Baretti’s but the dago is sore at me. His tables are always engaged
beforehand if I happen to want one on a holiday.”
“Couldn’t we go to New York the day before Thanksgiving and come back to
Hamilton the day after?” Doris once more pleaded. “You won’t transact
any business here on Thanksgiving Day.”
“That’s what you say,” Leslie made instant rejoinder. She laughed as
though she was in possession of a rich joke. “I’ve a special business
stunt to put over here on Thanksgiving Day. Get it straight this time,
Goldie. I am _not_ going to New York.”
“Then I shall go there alone.” Doris stopped on the threshold of the
Lotus. She faced Leslie angrily as she made the stubborn announcement.
For an instant the two girls fairly glared at each other.
“Go on inside, for goodness sake,” Leslie roughly requested. She had
turned incensed eyes from Doris in time to spy three Hamilton students
coming up the walk. Luckily their attention was focussed on the white
car. Two of them glanced back at it. It was apparently the topic they
were discussing.
“I meant what I said,” Doris began haughtily the moment they had seated
themselves at a table. “You are so very queer. You seem to forget that I
know London and Paris. What is New York to me?” Doris snapped
contemptuous fingers. “Merely another large city.”
“You’ll find it a handful, if you try to tackle it all by your
lonesome,” was Leslie’s satiric prediction.
“I don’t need, necessarily, to go there alone. I know two sophs who
would be glad—”
“Forget it,” Leslie interrupted with a gesture of dismissal. “The three
of you would have nothing on ‘Babes in the Wood,’ or any other of those
lost nursery kids. In New York, unless you’ve been born and brought up
there, you have to know the right sort of people, or you can’t have a
good time. I could give you a letter of introduction to Nat Weyman, if I
wanted to, but it wouldn’t do. She’d not like you, and you’d not like
her.”
“I fail to understand why New York should be so—so different from London
and Paris.” Doris was still haughty, though she was somewhat impressed
by what Leslie had just said. “I don’t wish to meet Miss Weyman.”
“Use your brain,” Leslie impatiently advised. “London and Paris are like
a couple of villages to you because you know ’em. New York would be a
howling wilderness to you. Why? Because you don’t know it. Simmer down,
Goldie. I’ll take you to New York with me the week after Christmas. Our
town house is closed this winter but I have an apartment in New York and
a chaperon whom I’ve taught to mind her own business. You can help me
here a good deal on Thanksgiving Day by wearing that new costume of
yours that matches the Dazzler. I want to make a splurge at the
Colonial, for reasons of my own.”
“Of course I wish to help you, Leslie.” Doris was somewhat mollified by
the Christmas prospect. She flushed hotly at Leslie’s pointed reminder
concerning her new costume and the car. Leslie had presented her with
the white fur hat and coat, an exquisite white silk gold-embroidered
gown and slippers and hose which made up the “costume.”
“Then look pleasant, and listen to me,” Leslie curtly directed, her eyes
fixed on the other girl’s rapidly clearing features. “Drive the Dazzler
to the Hamilton House for me at exactly eleven o’clock, on Thanksgiving
Day. We’ll go for a drive and stop at the Colonial at two o’clock for
dinner. After dinner we’ll go for another drive. Then back to supper at
the Colonial. There’s a good movie theatre in Hamilton. We might go to
it in the evening. You can easily run up to the campus and put the car
away before the ten-thirty bell rings.”
“Why not go to Orchard Inn for supper instead of the Colonial? Since
there’s been so little snow the roads are fine.” Doris made a last
desperate effort to have matters arranged partly as she wished.
“Too far away from the campus. My main idea is to be seen with you in
all your glory on Gobbler Day. I shan’t tell you why. Don’t ask me.
You’ve said you wanted to help me. Prove it by doing just as I tell you
when I ask you to do something for me.” Leslie leaned back in her chair
and surveyed Doris with the air of a dictator. She was giving a faithful
imitation of a favorite pose of her father.
“Very well.” Doris relapsed into displeased silence. She allowed Leslie
to order the luncheon and continued mute after the waitress had left
them.
Leslie pretended not to notice Doris’s frigidity. She busied herself
with the menu, hunting a dessert to her taste. When she had selected it
she cast the card on the table with impatient force.
“Don’t meet me at all Thanksgiving Day, if it will be too much of a
strain,” she sarcastically told Doris. She knew that Doris was too
deeply obligated to her to make such a course of action probable.
Doris viewed her with the cold, measuring glance which Leslie had more
than once privately admired in Goldie.
“I don’t mind meeting you and doing as you ask me Thanksgiving Day,
Leslie,” she said coolly. “What I do mind is your dictatorial manner.
And sometimes you’re really insulting.”
“Can’t help it. That’s the way my father is, and _that’s the way I’d
rather be_. You said I could make people like me if I tried. I wouldn’t
try. I’d rather have power; the kind that would make people do as I said
because they were afraid of me; afraid to do anything different. That’s
the kind my father has. He’s a great financier. Of course his money has
helped him climb to where he is, but he has an iron-strong will. His
father left him a fortune, but he’s made millions of dollars since
then.”
Leslie’s voice vibrated with melancholy pride as she poured forth this
praise of her father. She had not told Doris of her estrangement from
him, nor did she purpose to tell her. She had long since arrived at the
conclusion that her father was not indifferent to her welfare. Mrs.
Gaylord had, in a fit of confidence, admitted to Leslie that she had
been engaged by Mr. Cairns to chaperon her. Accordingly the two had come
to amicable terms. Mrs. Gaylord had amiably consented to go visiting
among her many friends and relatives a large share of the time, thus
leaving Leslie free to her own devices. She had seen Leslie established
in Hamilton at the Hamilton House, had remained with her a week and gone
on to visit a friend with the usual understanding that the receipt of a
telegram from Leslie would insure her immediate return.
“I should think you’d rather be in New York in business so that your
father could help you, since he’s such a wonderful financier.” Doris’s
practical and wholly innocent observation raised the red of
embarrassment in Leslie’s dark face.
“My father is—” Leslie fought down the confusion into which her
companion’s remark had thrown her. “Didn’t you hear me say our town
house was closed?” she asked grumpily. “My father’s in Europe just now.
Besides, this garage business I’m in is to be a surprise for him. When
he finds I’ve made good he’ll be ready to let me into some of his high
finance deals.”
Leslie’s pet dream was re-instatement into her father’s favor as a
result of her own daring brilliancy in business. Aside from the pleasure
of “making things hum for Bean” she thought well of her garage project.
It was the first step upward in the business career she had set her
heart upon.
“There’s something I want you to do for me—not later than tomorrow,”
Leslie dictated, regardless of Doris’s protest against her dictatorial
manner.
“What is it?” Doris again turned her measuring glance upon Leslie.
“I want you to find out whether Bean’s going off the campus for
Thanksgiving. I must know. Find out the same about Page, too.” Leslie’s
rugged features were set with dogged purpose. Her usually loose lips
were now formed into a tight line.
“I’m not certain I can find that out by tomorrow. I may not be able to
let you know before next Tuesday,” Doris replied with dignity. “Miss
Page’s and Miss Dean’s friends are not mine,” she reminded with irony.
“That need make no difference. It’s important to me to know.” Leslie
tapped on the table with an authoritative index finger in further
emphasis of each word. “You promised to help me, Goldie. Is this the way
you keep your promise? And with all I’ve done for you!”
“Don’t be so silly, Leslie. I’m not in the least afraid of you. You
can’t bully me even a tiny bit. I told you I’d help you, and I will. But
you must allow me to use my own judgment in some things. If that doesn’t
please you, take back all you’ve given me. I can get along nicely
without your further help. I don’t fancy gifts that have strings
attached to them.” Doris elevated her chin to a haughty angle.
Leslie’s face lost its tensity and registered half a dozen varied
expressions while Doris was announcing her declaration of independence.
At the last a look of glum perplexity replaced the others. While she had
been leader of the Sans at Hamilton she had had many altercations with
her chums. She had never taken their angry protests against her tyranny
seriously. No one of them had actually defied her except Dulcie Vale,
and she had “begun” on Dulcie.
Face to face with a girl who coolly ordered her not to be “silly,” and
declined to be bound by obligation further than she chose Leslie had
received the surprise of her life.
“Let me know as soon as you can. Phone me at the hotel and I’ll meet
you.” The dessert she had ordered, untouched, Leslie rose from her
chair. She had determined to show Doris that she was deeply offended.
Without saying good-bye she stalked sulkily from the tea room. On her
way to the door she demanded the check from the waitress and stopped at
the desk to pay it. She half hoped Doris would hurry after her and beg
her to go back. Instead Doris sat tranquilly at the table Leslie had
quitted and enjoyed her dessert of Nesselrode pudding. For once Leslie
had met her match.
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