MISGIVINGS
The complete and sudden change from the unhappy conditions at Gormans’
coupled with the exciting condition at her Aunt Harriet’s, compared with
the tranquillity and luxury at the home of Trixy Travers rather stunned
Gloria. She refused to be a “mope,” which to her meant having that
abnormal trait of analysing such things, yet she could not shut out the
question:
Why the Gormans? Why her aunt’s nerves and remorse? And why Trixy’s
luck?
Lying wide eyed in the perfect bed in the perfect room, through which
the faintest silver gleam from an invisible light filtered protectively,
she wondered?
Like a petted child, her brain imposed upon her and sent thoughts
leaping back to Barbend. There had been reality. Tommy, Millie, all the
others, and over all, dear, wise Jane!
And now Millie was making new friends in the city. Millie was friendly
but she was also loyal. There could be no danger of her forgetting
Gloria.
“And Trixy,” prompted the tyrant brain that held sleep at arm’s length;
“Trixy liked Sherry Graves, the young man who had developed Echo Park.
Talking about it all, just before they had separated for the night,
Trixy had told Gloria that it was partly her own father’s money which
had financed the scheme, also that Ben Hardy and his family were friends
of the Travers and friends of the Graves families, Sherry having been at
school with young Ben.
“Of course,” reasoned Gloria now, still too wide awake to be happy, “the
big contractor was apt to know the big manufacturer, also Ben was apt to
know Sherry. And Trixy would be interested in a park settlement out
around Sandford. She’s a model little citizen. She must have been fond
of Sherry—just good pals, of course. That was what she said when she
talked so earnestly of her sympathy for him. Too bad she has no brother
to inspire.”
Far away a bell tolled the late hour faintly.
“So late! I must get to sleep,” determined Gloria, “for tomorrow will
surely be another busy day.” But panic and slumber never agree, and the
night in the beautiful room was quite a failure after all.
No amount of coaxing nor offers to bring out her best clothes would
induce Gloria to remain with Trixy over Sunday.
“I just can’t,” she sighed. “I hardly understood things last night, and
Uncle Charley will be home today. I have to talk to him.”
“Will Hazel come home?” asked Trixy, raising her handsome brows
quizzically.
“I hope not,” confessed Gloria. “I would not be able to—to do things if
she were looking on.”
“Don’t you like her, Glo?”
“I hardly know her, really. I don’t dislike her, but somehow I feel
dreadfully self conscious when she’s around.”
“Now, I like Hazel,” defended Trixy. “She’s got character and a lot of
temperament, but still she’s a good sport.”
“What does that mean, just?” asked Gloria. They were out on the drive
waiting for the car that was to take Gloria back to Maple Street. Trixy
looked charming in her brilliant yellow sweater and her striped black
and yellow skirt. Gloria wore her Kelly green sweater, the one she made
during vacation, and its depths of true green brought out the glitter of
her dark eyes quite “Irishy,” as Trixy said it.
A toot from the garage warned both of the time limit set upon their
discussion.
“Why,” faltered Trixy, “I think one is a good sport when she can lose
without whining and when she tries to win over real obstacles. That’s
what Hazel is doing. She wants to sing and she will walk rough shod over
her best friends to learn how.”
“I don’t call that good sportmanship,” objected Gloria.
“Well, perhaps I put it too strongly. I should have said she would walk
over obstacles. Of course friends can’t be obstacles.”
“If they understand,” qualified Gloria, just as Jennings drew up in the
sedan.
“I waited until the very last moment to tell you Ben is coming out
tomorrow,” dimpled Trixy. “I was afraid you might say you wouldn’t take
a ride with us.”
“Ben Hardy!” There was surprise in Gloria’s voice. “Of course I’ll be
glad to see him, in fact I was really going in to see him.” It was her
dimples that played just now. “But I have a most important secret
engagement for tomorrow afternoon.”
“After school?”
“Yes, directly after.”
“I know. It’s with Marty at Echo Park!”
“May-be,” admitted Gloria, accepting the affectionate little embrace
offered by Trixy, and trying to express her own thanks for the
hospitality, in between.
“Trixy is a dear,” she concluded as she sat back in the cushions.
“Gloria is a love,” said Trixy as she raced her little poodle back to
the house.
“If Trixy doesn’t get too fashionable,” went on Gloria’s ruminating.
“She’s so pretty and so very stylish.”
“If Gloria doesn’t go to being clever,” worried Trixy. “She’s apt to go
off, grow pale, and write a book. Wouldn’t that be dreadful? Full of
Tommy’s and Marty’s! Now, if I ever wrote a book I’d have a hero like
Sherry. Poor Sherry!” Her eyes blinked and Bumble barked impatiently.
Of the day full of happenings, Gloria’s long talk with her Uncle Charley
stood out beyond the sunshine and above the shadows.
Aunt Harriet was so much better, relieved, her husband called it.
“And I’m going to get her away from this—it has mostly been my fault,”
admitted the big man as big men always do.
“Dr. Daly said all she needed was a change,” agreed Gloria gladly. “It
would be lovely for her to get away from Sandford.”
“I’ll get my cousin to come over for a week or ten days—”
“Why?”
“To be with you, of course.”
“I’m going away with Jane,” declared Gloria. “You don’t mind, Uncle
Charley? I’ve just got to. I—I—perhaps I need a change too.”
“You look it!” he teased. That was so like her father. She couldn’t help
liking a man with those frank, fearless ways and that quick, swift
understanding.
“All the same, Uncle Charley, please listen.” They were out by the back
hedge. It was new, like all things on Maple Street, and Gloria felt
sorry for it. “You see I’m awfully interested in those Gorman children,”
ventured Gloria.
“Yes? And you have rather a practical way of showing it. You turned the
trick when you got that poor woman off to the hospital. Even I, a full
grown man, hadn’t managed that. Every time I gave little old Gorman
twenty-five dollars he paid it on the moldy mortgage,” complained Uncle
Charley.
“And the old place is hardly fit to live in,” added Gloria.
“Well, you did the right thing when you gave the money to Dr. Daly,”
went on Uncle Charley. “Although you have got to get that back with all
the rest, some day.” A little moan hung on the last word.
Gloria was fairly vibrating with expectancy. She was going to meet Marty
directly after school next day, and together they were going through the
model house. Marty had his father’s key. She wanted dreadfully to talk
about it all to Uncle Charley, but could not bring herself to do so. He
might say: “Wait until I can go with you.” There was something in his
manner that warned her.
She could not take such a chance as that. It would be too much to ask
that she wait longer to see the mystery place, being human and having
title to the house. Fancy that! So she said nothing of her plans,
although she felt they must be written on her face.
“Let’s walk down the road a ways,” suggested her uncle. “Your aunt is at
the window and she may think we are—”
“Plotting,” supplied Gloria.
As they walked he seemed very serious and abstracted.
“Is Hazel coming home?” asked Gloria presently.
“No. Not just now. She telephoned last night and wanted to come but her
mother wouldn’t hear of it. I’ll tell you, Gloria, I’m afraid the old
man has been rather a bear.”
“Nonsense, Uncle Charley,” exclaimed the girl. “Daddy would have been
worse. He can’t stand debt.”
“That’s just it. It all seemed so foolish. But Hattie listened too long
to the lure. Who wouldn’t want to double a little money when it looked
so easy? Of course Lottie was interested, but she kept it clear that the
money was yours. Hazel had had her share.”
It was horrible to see him remorseful; first for Aunt Hattie and then
for himself. He repeatedly blamed himself for her illness, and declared
nothing now would prevent him from making it up to her as well as he
could. The trip to Summerfield’s would be a joy to Hattie Macumber, for
there she had spent her best youth, and there her friends still lived.
“I see you had a letter from dad,” he said next. “And I understand he
may come over to our Western coast?”
“Yes. Isn’t that fine? I always knew the firm would find him a star at
that end of the business. Who could resist dad?”
“Personality plus, they call it. I agree with you he has that.”
“And he’s met a young American,” Gloria was enthusiastic now. “Some one
travelling for his health, he may travel West with dad,” she rattled on.
“They’ll have to come through New York.”
“And stop off.”
“Surely.”
“What won’t all you girls do to that one foreign traveller?” tossed the
man rather indifferently.
“The funny part of it is we all said dad would have to bring back a
prince. Now I suppose he will be—”
“A pauper,” said Uncle Charley. Presently all that was forgotten and
again they talked of the big problem.
“Giving up your coat money was—heroic,” Uncle Charley insisted. “I’m not
saying much, Hallelujah,” (his pet name for her) “but I’m thinkin’.”
“It wasn’t heroic one bit,” contradicted Gloria, pressing close to his
arm. “I just wanted to, the same as I wanted dad to go away. It’s all
bosh to say I’m brave when I’m just vain. I like to do what I want to do
so much, that I can’t stand not to. So that’s why I tricked dad into
going away, and that’s why I got Mrs. Gorman to the hospital. I
perfectly love to think about such things after, and there’s not a bit
of real goodness in doing it.”
“Well,” said the man who now turned back to the new little hedge, “it’s
a first rate imitation of being good, and so far as I’m concerned I
wouldn’t ask for anything better.” He pinched her arm playfully. “But
just wait until Spring comes! Then we’ll see which way the cat jumps.”
She wondered what he meant. Trixy had said the engineers wouldn’t even
look seriously at Echo Park until Spring, but she, Gloria, was going to
look at it tomorrow. She turned away, thoughtfully and afterwards
remembered the shiver she tried to shake off.
“Guess we’re in for an all night rain,” Uncle Charley remarked as if he
divined she planned against such a contingency.
“And all day tomorrow?” asked Gloria eagerly.
“Well, no. The wind’s shifting. I guess the night will finish it. And
Gloria,” he paused and deliberated. Then: “Don’t worry about things
tomorrow,” he said. “Just let Martha attend to everything; she owes it
to Hattie. And you go out with Trixie to see Jane, if you care to. I’m
ashamed to have left you two alone here so much, but that Gorman fellow
simply hounded me,” he admitted.
“Oh, Uncle Charley! Well, he’s got a good new hundred now and I guess
Dr. Daly will make him attend to his own little flock. They’re just like
chicks, always peeping or—cackling. All except Marty and he’s a perfect
little man.”
“Like your friend Tommy, eh?” teased Uncle Charley.
“A lot,” admitted Gloria.