THE PARTY.
The invitations had been for half-past seven, and precisely at that hour
Peterkin arrived, magnificent in his swallow-tail and white shirt front,
where an enormous diamond shone conspicuously. With him came the second
Mrs. Peterkin, whose name was Mary Jane, but whom her husband always
called _May_ Jane. She was a frail, pale faced little woman, and had
once been Grace Atherton's maid, but had married Peterkin for his money.
This was her first appearance at a grand party, and in her excitement
and timidity she did not hear Harold's thrice repeated words, 'Ladies go
that way,' but followed her husband into the gentlemen's dressing-room,
where she deposited her wraps, and then, shaking in every limb,
descended to the drawing-room, where Peterkin's boisterous laugh was
soon heard, as he slapped his host on the shoulder, and said:
'You see, we are here on time, though May Jane said it was too early.
But I s'posed half-past seven meant half-past seven and then I wanted a
little time to talk up the ropes with you. We are going to run you in,
you bet!' and again his coarse laugh thrilled every nerve in Mrs.
Tracy's body, and she longed for fresh arrivals to help quiet this
vulgar man.
Soon they began to come by twos, and threes, and sixes, and Harold was
kept busy with his 'Ladies this way, and gentlemen that.'
After Mrs. Peterkin had gone down stairs, leaving her wraps in the
gentlemen's rooms, Harold, who knew they did not belong there, had
carried them to the ladies' room and deposited them upon the bed, just
as the girl who was to be in attendance appeared at her post, asked him
sharply why he was in there rummaging the ladies' things.
'I'm not rummaging. They are Mrs. Peterkin's. She left them in the other
room, and I brought them here,' Harold said, as he returned to the hall,
never dreaming that this little circumstance, trivial as it seemed,
would be one of the links in the chain of evidence which must for a time
overshadow him so darkly.
Now, he was eager and excited, and interested in watching the people as
they came up the stairs and went down again. With the quick instinct of
a bright, intelligent boy, he decided who was accustomed to society and
who was not, and leaning over the banister when not on duty, watched
them when they entered the drawing-room and were received by Mr. and
Mrs. Tracy. Unconsciously he began to imitate them, bowing when they
bowed, and saying softly to himself:
'Oh, how do you do? Good evening. Happy to see you. Pleasant to-night.
Walk in. Ye-as!'
This was the monosyllable with which he finished every sentence, and was
the affirmation to the thought in his mind that he, too, would some day
go down those stairs and into those parlors as a guest, while some other
boy in the upper hall bade the ladies go this way and the gentlemen
that.
It was after nine when Mr. and Mrs. St. Claire arrived, with Squire
Harrington, from Collingwood. Harold had been looking for them, anxious
to see the crimson satin trimmed with ermine, of which Dick had told
him. Many of the guests he had mentally criticised unsparingly, but Mrs.
St. Claire, he knew, was genuine, and his face beamed, when in passing
him, she smiled upon him with her sweet, gracious manner, and said,
pleasantly:
'Good evening, Harold. I knew you were to be here. Dick told me, and he
wanted to come and assist you, but I thought he'd better stay home with
Nina.'
Up to this time no one had spoken to Harold, and he had spoken to no one
except to tell them where to go, but had, as far as possible, followed
Mrs. Tracy's injunction to be a machine. But the machine was getting a
little tired. It was hard work to stand for two hours or more, and Mrs.
Tracy had impressed it upon him that he was not to sit down. But when
Mrs. St. Claire came from the dressing-room and stood before him a
moment in her crimson satin and pearls, he forgot his weariness and
forgot that he was not to talk, and said to her, involuntarily:
'Oh, Mrs. St. Claire, how handsome you look! Handsomer than anybody yet,
and different, too, somehow.'
Edith knew the compliment was genuine, and she replied:
'Thank you, Harold,' then, laying her hand on the boy's head and parting
his soft, brown hair, she said, as she noticed a look of fatigue in his
eyes, 'are you not tired, standing so long? Why don't you bring a chair
from one of the rooms and sit when you can?'
'She told me to stand,' Harold replied, nodding toward the parlors, from
which a strain of music then issued.
The dancing had commenced, and Harold's feet and hands beat time to the
lively strains of the piano and violin, until he could contain himself
no longer. The dancing he must see at all hazards and know what it was
like, and when the last guests came up the stairs there was no hall boy
there to tell them, 'Ladies this way, gentlemen that,' for Harold was in
the thickest of the crowd, standing on a chair so as to look over the
heads of those in front of him and see the dancers. But, alas, for poor
Harold! He was soon discovered by Mrs. Tracy, who, asking him if he did
not know his place better than that, ordered him back to his post, where
he was told to stay until the party was over.
Wholly unconscious of the nature of his offence, but very sorry that he
had offended, Harold went up the stairs, wondering why he could not see
the dancing, and how long the party would last. His head was beginning
to ache with the glare and gas; his little legs were tired, and he was
growing sleepy. Surely he might sit down now, particularly as Mrs. St.
Claire had suggested it, and bringing himself a chair from one of the
rooms he sat down in a corner of the hall and was soon in a sound sleep,
from which, however, he was roused by the sound of Mr. Tracy's voice, as
he came up the stairs, followed by a tall, distinguished-looking man,
who wore a Spanish cloak wrapped gracefully around him, and a large,
broad-brimmed hat drawn down so closely, as to hide his features from
view.
As he reached the upper landing he raised his head, and Harold, who was
now wide awake and standing up, caught a glimpse of a thin, pale face
and a pair of keen, black eyes, which seemed for an instant to take
everything in; than the head was dropped, and the two men disappeared in
a room at the far end of the hall.
'I'll bet that's Mr. Arthur. How grand he is! looks just like a pirate
in that cloak and hat,' was Harold's mental comment.
Before he had time for further thought, Frank Tracy came from the room
and hurried down the stairs to rejoin his guests.
Five minutes later and the door at the end of the long hall which
communicated with the back staircase and the rear of the house, opened,
and a man whom Harold recognized as the expressman from the station
appeared with a huge trunk on his shoulder and a large valise in his
hand. These he deposited in the stranger's room and then went back for
more, until four had been carried in. But when he came with the fifth
and largest of all, a hand, white and delicate as a woman's, was thrust
from the door-way with an imperative gesture, and a voice with a decided
foreign accent exclaimed:
'For heaven's sake, don't bring any more boxes in here. Why, I am
positively stumbling over them now. Surely there must be some place in
the house for my luggage besides my private apartment.'
Then the door was shut with a bang, and Harold heard the sliding of the
bolt as Arthur Tracy fastened himself in his room.