"LIFE'S LITTLE IRONIES"
"Mollie O'Neill, if you don't tell me what you and Billy Webster have
been whispering about all evening and why you look so worried, I don't
think I can bear it a moment longer," Betty Ashton insisted, having at
last found her friend alone for a moment, while the other girls and men
were clearing the living room for the dance.
"There isn't anything to tell. At least there really is, but I have
not been told just what," Mollie sighed in return.
"Then of course it's Polly?"
Mollie nodded. "Early this morning before any of us were awake a
telegram arrived from Polly begging mother to come to New York at once.
Polly said she wasn't ill and there was nothing for us to worry over,
but just the same Sylvia and I have been worried nearly to death all
day. For mother got off within a few hours. Then late this evening
Billy Webster appears in Woodford after his visit in New York. And
though he tells me that he saw Polly and Esther and has confessed that
he knows why Polly telegraphed for mother, he won't give me the least
satisfaction about anything. Can you make any suggestion, Betty dear?
What difficulty do you suppose Polly has gotten into this time? For
certainly it is Polly and not Esther; Esther would never be absurd."
Mollie lowered her voice as several of their friends were approaching.
"Please don't speak of this, Betty. Mother left word that we were not
to mention it outside the family until she learned exactly what was the
matter. But of course she said that I might tell you."
Before Betty could reply John Everett had invited her to dance.
But slowly she shook her head. "I can't, John. I know you will think
it foolish; perhaps it is. Of course I have come to Meg's party and
enjoyed it very much. And yet, well, somehow I don't feel quite like
dancing. You understand, don't you?"
John acquiesced. He was disappointed, and yet felt himself able to
understand almost anything that Betty wished him to, when she looked at
him with that appealing light in her gray eyes and that rose flush in
her cheeks.
"Never mind," he returned; "I'll find seats for us somewhere, where we
can manage to talk and yet watch the others."
Betty smiled. It was agreeable to be so sought after, and yet under
the circumstances quite out of the question.
"You will please find me a place where I can watch, but not with you.
This is your party, remember. Meg will expect you and every man to do
his duty," she replied.
So after a little further discussion Betty found herself seated upon a
kind of miniature throne, which John had made for her by piling some
sofa cushions upon an old divan. Behind her was a background of cedar
and pine branches decorating the walls and just above her head
flickered the lights of candles from a pair of brass sconces.
Betty wore her red brown hair parted in the middle and in two heavy
braids, one falling over each shoulder, while around her forehead was a
blue and silver band with the three white feathers, the insignia of her
title of "Princess" in their Camp Fire Club. Her dress was cut a
little low in the throat and about it were strung seven chains of honor
beads.
For a little while at least she might have found interest in watching
the others dance had she not been worried about Polly. She was uneasy
and it was stupid to have been given this opportunity to think; for
thinking could do no possible good. Whatever mischief Polly had gotten
into was sure to be beyond one's wildest imagination. It would be much
more agreeable if she might have some one to talk with her and so
distract her attention.
And there was one other guest beside herself who was not dancing.
Betty flushed uncomfortably. It must appear strange to the others to
see Anthony sitting only a short distance away from her and yet paying
no more attention to her presence than if they were upon opposite sides
of the world.
Once or twice Betty looked graciously toward the young man, intending
to smile an invitation to him to sit near her, should he show the
inclination. For possibly he was too much embarrassed to make the
first move. She must remember that he had had no one to teach him good
manners and that he was always both shy and awkward in her presence.
However, at present he seemed totally unaware of her existence and not
in the least requiring entertainment. For he was watching the dancers
with such profound concentration that apparently his entire attention
was absorbed by them.
The girl had an unusually good opportunity for studying the young man's
face. She had not noticed until tonight how thin he was and how clear
and finely cut his features. There was no trace of his Italian mother
left, save in his black hair and in the curious glow which his skin
showed underneath its pallor. His nose was big--too big, Betty
thought--and his lips closed and firm. He had a kind of hungry look.
Hungry for what? the girl wondered. Then she had a sudden feeling of
compunction. Anthony might sometimes even be hungry for food, he
worked so hard, made so little money and was so busy by day and night.
Before tonight she might have helped him without his knowing or even
caring, if he had guessed her purpose. But after tonight? Well, Betty
felt reasonably sure that she and Anthony could never be upon exactly
the same footing again. For somehow she had hurt him more than she had
intended, not realizing that any one could be at once so humble and so
proud. And as she had made one of those mistakes that one can never
apologize for, there was no point in dwelling on it any longer. Only
she did regret by this time that deep down in her heart there must
still linger her old narrow attitude toward money and good birth. She
was poor enough herself now, and yet in her case, as in so many others,
had it not made her feel all the more pride in the distinction of her
family? Assuredly she had often whispered to herself that poverty did
not matter when one bore a distinguished name.
Betty smothered a sigh and a yawn. It was tiresome to be sitting there
thinking and reproaching herself when the others were having such a
good time. How splendidly Billy Webster and Mollie danced together!
He was so strong and dictatorial, so certain of his own judgment and
opinions. And Mollie so gentle and yielding! She smiled over her
foolish romancing, and yet there was no use pretending that they would
not make a suitable match should things turn out that way. Mollie and
Polly might possibly never be exactly what they had been to each other
in the past, and Mrs. Wharton had re-married, and Sylvia would soon be
going away to study nursing.
But some one was passing close by and trying to attract her attention.
Betty waved her hand, but when she had gone frowned a little anxiously.
Edith Norton was dancing with the friend whom she had persuaded Meg to
ask to her Camp Fire dinner, although none of the rest of the girls
liked him. He was a good deal older than their other young men
acquaintances and a stranger to most of them, having only come to
Woodford in the past six months and opened a drug store. But he had
been entirely devoted to Edith since, and of course as she was nearly
twenty she should know her own mind. Notwithstanding, Betty felt
uneasy and uncomfortable. They had been hearing things not to
Frederick Howard's credit in the village, and Edith had always been
unlike the rest of their Sunrise Camp Fire girls. She was vainer and
more frivolous and dreadfully tired of working in a millinery shop in
Woodford. This much she had confided to Betty after coming to live in
the Ashton house. And both Rose Dyer and Miss McMurtry were afraid
that Edith might for this reason accept the first opportunity that
apparently offered to make life easier for her. So they had asked
Betty to use her influence whenever it was possible. Betty it was who
had first brought Edith into their club, and Edith had always cared for
her and admired her more than any other of her associates.
Betty stirred restlessly. Would she never be able to get away from
serious thoughts tonight? But the next instant she had jumped to her
feet with a quickly smothered cry and stood with her hands clasped
tightly over her eyes. For all around her, in her hair falling down
upon her shoulders and about her face were glittering sparks of heat
and light. They were scorching her; already she could smell the odor
of her burning hair. One movement the girl made to protect her head,
then in a flash her hands were covering her eyes again. She wanted to
run, and yet some subconscious idea restrained her. Running would only
make the flames leap faster and higher. And surely in an instant some
one must come to her assistance; for her own low cry had been echoed by
a dozen other voices.
Then Betty felt herself roughly seized and dragged stumbling away from
her former position, while a sudden, smothering darkness destroyed her
breath and vision; and none too tender hands seemed to be pressing down
the top of her head.
Another moment and she was pulling feebly at the scorched coat
enveloping her.
"Please take it off. I am all right now. The fire must be out, and
I'm stifling," she pleaded.
But about her there followed another firm closing in of the heavy
material. And then the darkness lifted, showing Anthony Graham
standing close beside her in his shabby shirt sleeves, holding his
ruined coat in his hands. In a terrified group near by was every other
human being in the room, excepting Jim Meade and Frank Wharton, who
were pulling down the burning pine and cedar branches from the wall and
stamping out the last sparks of fire caused by the overturning of one
of the candles.
"What happened to me? Am I much burned?" Betty asked, trying to smile
and yet feeling her lips quiver tremulously. "Won't somebody please
take me home?" Now she dared not put up her hands toward her pretty
hair, for it was enough to try and bear the pain that seemed to be
covering her head and shoulders like a blanket of fire.
Surely the faces before her must look whiter and more terror-stricken
than her own. Mollie and Faith were both crying. Betty wondered just
why. And Anthony Graham was staring at her with such a strange
expression. She wanted to thank him, to say that she was sorry and
grateful at the same time, but could not recall exactly what had
happened. Then that funny Herr Crippen was shaking all over and saying
"Mein liebes Kind," just as though it were Esther who had been hurt.
At last, however, Rose Dyer and Dr. Barton, each with an arm about her,
were leading her across the length of that interminable and now
pitch-black room with a floor that seemed to be rising before her eyes
like the waves of the sea. And afterwards, she did not know just when,
the cold night air brought back to her a returning consciousness, but
with the consciousness came an even greater sense of pain.
Never in after years could Betty Ashton wholly forget the drive home
that followed. Rose Dyer and Miss McMurtry sat on either side of her,
sometimes talking, sometimes quiet, and now and then gently touching
her bandaged hands. Occasionally Dr. Barton asked her a question, to
which she replied as calmly and intelligently as possible. Otherwise
she made no movement that she could help and no sound. Anthony Graham
drove silently and grimly forward at the utmost speed that the two
livery-stable horses could attain. And although to Betty the journey
seemed to last half a lifetime, in reality it had seldom been
accomplished in so short a time.