THE THANKSGIVING HOLIDAYS
Seven o'clock came all too soon for Marjorie and Lily, as they opened
their eyes at the sound of the rising bell.
"Don't you wish we could stay in bed?" yawned Marjorie, glancing at the
clock.
"We can to-morrow; mama will let us have breakfast in bed every single
morning, if we like."
"Oh, Lil, that sounds too good to be true! I know we'll have a wonderful
time."
There were only three hours of classes; after an early luncheon, school
was dismissed. Everybody took the one-o'clock train for home.
"Frieda saved me the trouble of expressing my canoe home," remarked
Marjorie, when the girls were comfortably seated together in the train.
"But how I wish I'd find it--and her, too!"
"Maybe we shall," said Lily. "Don't forget the fortune teller!"
"But New York's pretty big, isn't it?" Having lived all of her life in
a small town, Marjorie had only a vague idea of the size of the great
city.
Lily laughed good-naturedly. "Wait till you see it," she said. "It's
simply tremendous--and so crowded and confusing."
"Poor Frieda!" sighed Marjorie.
Mrs. Andrews's chauffeur met the train, bringing the former's regrets at
not being present in person.
"Mama's out so much," explained Lily. "Teas and charity work, you know."
As Marjorie entered the big limousine, she realized that she had never
ridden in so luxurious a car before. She glanced at the soft upholstery,
the bouquet of real flowers, and felt the warmth of the artificial heat.
Lily's parents were obviously rich, although the girl evidently gave it
little thought now. But Marjorie remembered how impressed her room-mate
had been with the fact when she entered Miss Allen's, and suddenly she
decided that, had she known all this, she would not have blamed her so
severely.
Then the streets claimed her attention. They were filled with traffic of
all kinds, which she watched silently. Her thoughts flew to Frieda
Hammer; she wondered what were her impressions as she entered this
great, noisy confusion, that is called New York. How would she feel
herself, if she had come all alone--with no Lily to direct her, no car
to meet her, no friends to entertain her? Alone, with little or no
money in her purse, and no qualifications to fit her for work! She
shuddered at the very idea; a sort of despair seized her, so that for
the instant she suffered vicariously as acutely as if she were the other
girl in the situation.
But Lily's voice brought her back to reality.
"That was the Grand Central Station, where we came in," explained the
New York girl. "And this is Sixth Avenue."
"And you live in an apartment, too, don't you, Lil?" asked Marjorie, her
gaze resting upon her companion. "Do you know, I've never been in an
apartment!"
"It's an apartment-hotel," corrected Lily. "We don't even get our own
meals!"
Half an hour later, the girls were sitting in Lily's dainty boudoir,
sipping chocolate and enjoying a glorious hour of pure idleness.
"Are we doing anything to-night, Lil?" asked Marjorie, leaning back
contentedly against the cushions on the window seat. "Not that I think
we need to----" she hastened to add, lest her hostess might attribute
her remark to impoliteness.
"Yes, we're going to the theater," replied Lily, laughingly. "It's a
musical comedy. I hope you will like it."
"I'm sure I will. Do you know, Lil, I've never been in a real theater in
my life!" She paused a moment, and then blurted out, unexpectedly,
"Suppose Frieda should be a chorus girl! Do you think we'd recognize
her, with all her paint and powder, if she were?"
Lily smiled at the other's simplicity. Evidently Marjorie had no
conception of the great number of theaters in New York, or of the
difficulty, for a novice, in obtaining a part in a show. And the idea of
Frieda Hammer--rude, awkward, and uncouth--on the stage, was absolutely
grotesque.
"I hardly think she'd be able to get the job, Marj," she replied,
succeeding in hiding her amusement. But in order to forestall any more
such remarks, she decided to change the subject.
"We're going to the game to-morrow," she announced, "with papa and mama,
and----"
But Marjorie was only politely enthusiastic.
"We surely won't see Frieda there," she remarked. "Isn't it dreadfully
expensive?"
"Not only that, but she wouldn't be interested. Of course, Frieda Hammer
wouldn't understand football! But I'll tell you who will be there!"
"Who?"
"Guess!"
"The boys?"
"Yes; John Hadley and Dick Roberts!"
"Oh, I'm awfully glad!" exclaimed Marjorie. "I haven't seen John for
ages."
And in the conversation that followed, the Girl Scouts' runaway ward was
forgotten.
Thanksgiving day was bright and clear, and just cold enough to give a
bracing tingle to the air. The boys arrived only a few minutes before
the time to start for the game, and among so many people, Marjorie and
John exchanged only the most formal greetings.
During the automobile ride, and later at the game, it seemed to Marjorie
that John was unusually quiet. Perhaps, she decided, it was because he
was with strangers,--or perhaps it was because he had changed. She knew
that he was working his way through college, and she wondered whether
the responsibility was weighing him down. Or perhaps, she thought, he
was no longer interested in so youthful a person as herself.
But to John Hadley, Marjorie Wilkinson was the same merry, charming girl
who continued to hold first place in his affections.
Mrs. Andrews invited the boys to dinner after the game, and they
accepted gladly. It was not until after the meal was over, and Marjorie
and John were dancing in the hotel ball-room that the girl lost her
shyness and felt herself back again on the old familiar ground with him.
"May I come to see you at Christmas time?" he whispered, as they glided
across the floor.
"But I'm not sure that I'll be home," replied Marjorie, thinking of
Frieda Hammer, and wondering whether she might not try to trace her
again at that time, if she failed now.
"Are you going far away?" he pursued, in a woeful tone.
"I don't know. But you can write!"
The young people danced until the first intermission, when Mrs. Andrews
rose to go, and the girls, after saying good-bye to the boys,
accompanied her to the apartment.
"I looked at every waitress in the dining-room," said Marjorie, when she
and Lily were alone in their room, "and I tried to see all the people I
could on the streets to-day, but none of them looked like Frieda!"
"Oh, Marj! You're hopeless!" replied Lily, in exasperation. "Here I
expected you to rave about John Hadley, or at least the football game,
and the very minute he's gone, you begin on that girl again!"
"Do I bore you, Lil? Or do I seem unappreciative?" asked Marjorie,
penitently.
"No, you old dear!" laughed Lily, relenting. "By the way, what is it you
want to do to-morrow?"
"Go shopping!" replied Marjorie happily, for the idea of the novel
experience was pleasing to her.
Mrs. Wilkinson had given her daughter some money with which to go
shopping, and the girls planned their trip for Friday. Mrs. Andrews
decided to send the chauffeur with them, allowing them to go otherwise
unaccompanied, for she knew how much pleasure it would afford them to
go alone.
Early after lunch the following day, the girls started on their
expedition. After they left the car and entered the shops, Marjorie
wanted to proceed slowly, stopping everywhere to look at displays and to
examine the beautiful things spread alluringly before their eyes. She
really bought little; the experience was so new to her that she could
scarcely make up her mind what to choose.
At quarter after four Lily looked at her watch.
"I'm dead, Marj!" she announced. "Let's go and get some hot chocolate,
and then go home."
"All right," agreed Marjorie reluctantly. "But I sort of hate to leave.
By the way, Lil, have you been noticing the salesgirls?"
"Not 'specially. Why?"
"I thought one of them might be Frieda."
"If you mention Frieda Hammer again," threatened Lily, "when I get back
to school, I'll go poison that fortune teller for getting you so worked
up."
"Oh, please don't, Lil!" begged Marjorie, good-naturedly.
She followed her hostess out of the brilliantly lighted department
store, across the street, and into a cozy, softly lighted tea-room. The
contrast between the glaring, noisy shops and this quiet, restful
retreat worked wonders with the tired girls. They seemed almost
immediately to imbibe the peaceful atmosphere, and to become refreshed.
"It's lovely!" exclaimed Marjorie, refusing even to look at the menu.
"Anything you order will suit me."
Although Marjorie had decided not to plague Lily again with the mention
of Frieda, she had by no means forgotten her. Accordingly, she followed
the proceeding she had adopted upon every occasion since she had entered
New York; she looked carefully at every young girl she saw, hoping that
it might prove to be Frieda.
As soon as her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, she peered
eagerly,--almost rudely, she was afraid--into the faces of the
waitresses. Suddenly, her heart stood still; at the far corner, near the
swinging door leading to the kitchen, stood a girl bearing a striking
resemblance to Frieda! Could Marjorie be dreaming--or was it possible
that the runaway had a double? She dared not trust her own eyes.
"Look, Lil!" she whispered. "Could that be Frieda, there?"
Lily followed the direction indicated by Marjorie, and saw a slim girl
in black, wearing a waitress's cap and apron. The girl was neat, and her
hair was tidy; indeed, one would have to stretch the imagination to
picture her as the one of the troop's adoption. And yet her
features--and something about her bearing were decidedly like Frieda.
"Oh, Frieda Hammer would never get a job in a place like this,"
remarked Lily, discouragingly. "They only employ refined girls here!"
Still not daunted, however, Marjorie half rose from her seat, but just
at that moment the waitress in question disappeared with a tray of
dishes.
Lily gave her order for hot chocolate with whipped cream, and fancy
cakes, to the waitress who stood at their table. "Does that suit you,
Marj?" she inquired.
"Yes, thanks!" replied Marjorie; but at that moment she would have
agreed to corned-beef and cabbage. She watched eagerly for the girl to
reappear; finally she was rewarded by seeing the two waitresses enter
together.
As her own girl came towards them, she leaned over and asked earnestly,
"Can you tell me the name of the waitress--over there?"
"Jennie Perkins," replied the girl, quietly.
Marjorie's face fell; she must be mistaken. Then an idea came to her;
perhaps it was Frieda, under an assumed name!
"Has she worked here long?" pursued Marjorie.
"I think so--but I've only been here a week myself, and she was here
when I came!"
The girl had disappeared again, and Marjorie turned reluctantly to her
refreshment. She kept watching the swinging door, hoping that the girl
would reappear and give her an opportunity to question her. But she did
not return before Marjorie and Lily had finished their chocolate, so
they were obliged to leave the shop, as much in the dark as ever.
The remaining two days passed without further adventure, and on Sunday
evening they were back again at Miss Allen's.
"I wonder whether the fortune teller was mistaken, after all?" thought
Marjorie.