Moving along Riverside Drive with sufficient slowness to grasp details
had given the little western visitor an opportunity to enjoy the great
sweep of the Hudson River and the beauty of the New Jersey palisades.
On the front seat of the motor car Barbara sat with Dick Thornton,
who had offered to take the chauffeur’s place for the afternoon. Back
of them were Mrs. Thornton and Mildred. It was a cold April day and
there were not many other cars along the Drive. Finally Mrs. Thornton,
leaning over, touched her son on the shoulder.
“I think it might be wiser, Dick, to go back home now. Barbara has seen
the view of the river and the wind has become so disagreeable. Suppose
we turn off into Broadway,” she suggested.
Acquiescing, a few moments later Dick swung his car up a steep
incline. He was going at a moderate pace, and yet just before reaching
Broadway he sounded his horn, not once, but half a dozen times. The
crossing appeared free from danger. Then when they had arrived at about
the middle of the street, suddenly (and it seemed as if the car must
have leaped out of space) a yellow automobile came racing down Broadway
at incredible speed.
It chanced that Barbara observed the car first, although immediately
after she heard queer muffled cries coming from Mildred and her mother.
She herself felt no inclination to scream. For one thing, there did
not seem to be time. Nevertheless, impulse drew her eyes toward Dick
Thornton to see how he was affected.
Of course he must have become aware of their danger when the rest of
them had. He must know that all their lives were in deadly peril. Yet
there was nothing in the expression of his face to suggest it, nor
had his head moved the fraction of an inch. Strange to see him half
smiling, his color vivid, his dark eyes unafraid, almost as if he had
no realization of what must inevitably happen.
Closing her own eyes, Barbara felt her body stiffen; the first shock
would be over in a second, and afterwards----
Nevertheless no horrible crash followed, but instead the girl felt
that she must be flying along through the air instead of being driven
along the earth. For they had made a single gigantic leap forward. Then
Barbara became aware that Mildred was speaking in a voice that shook
with nervousness in spite of her effort at self-control.
“You have saved all our lives, Dick. How ever did you manage to get out
of that predicament?” Afterwards she endeavored to quiet her mother,
who was becoming hysterical now that they were entirely safe.
So they were safe! It scarcely seemed credible. Yet when Barbara Meade
looked up the racing car was still speeding on its desperate way down
Broadway, followed by two policemen on motorcycles, while their own
automobile was moving quietly on. The girl had a moment of feeling
limp and ill. Then she discovered that Dick Thornton was talking to her
and that she must answer him.
He was still smiling and his brown eyes were untroubled, but now that
the danger had passed every bit of the color had left his face. Yet
undoubtedly he was good looking.
Barbara had to check an inclination to laugh. This was a tiresome
trait of hers, to see the amusing side of things at the time when they
should not appear amusing. Now, for instance, it was ridiculous to find
herself admiring Dick Thornton’s nose at the instant he had saved her
life.
His face was almost perfectly modeled, his forehead broad and high with
dark hair waving back from it like the pictures of young Greek boys.
His brown eyes were deeply set beneath level brows, his olive skin and
his mouth as attractive as a girl’s.
Yes, her new acquaintance was handsome, Barbara concluded gravely, and
yet his face lacked strength. Personally she preferred the bronzed and
rugged type of young men to whom she was accustomed in the west.
But what was it that her companion had been saying?
“I do trust, Miss Meade, that you are not ill from fright. Mildred,
will you please lend us mother’s smelling salts for a little while, or
had we best stop by a drug store?”
Shaking her head Barbara smiled. She was wearing the same little
close-fitting brown velvet hat of the night of her arrival. But today
her short curls had fluttered out from under it and her eyes were wide
open and bluer than ever with the wonderful vision of the first great
city she had ever seen.
“Oh, dear me, no, there is nothing in the world the matter with me,”
Barbara expostulated. “Why if I can’t go through a little bit of
excitement like that, how do you suppose I am going to manage to be a
Red Cross nurse in Europe in war times?”
“You a war nurse?” Dick Thornton’s voice expressed surprise, amusement,
and disbelief. He turned his head sideways to glance at his companion.
“Forgive me,” he said, “but you look a good deal more like a bisque
doll. I believe they do have dolls dressed as Red Cross nurses, set up
in the windows of the toy shops. Shall I try to get a place in a window
for you?”
Barbara was blushing furiously, although she intended not to allow
herself to grow angry. Certainly she must not continue so sensitive
about her youthful appearance. There would be many more trials of this
same kind ahead of her.
“I am sorry you think I look like a doll,” she returned with an effort
at carelessness; “it is rather absurd in a grown-up woman to show so
little character. My hair is short because I had typhoid fever a year
ago. You know, I’m really over eighteen; I got through school pretty
early and as I have always known what I wanted to do, I took some
special courses in nursing at school, so I was able to graduate two
years afterwards.”
“Oh, I see,” Dick murmured, appearing thoughtful. “Eighteen is older
than any doll I ever heard of unless she happened to be a doll that had
been put away in an old cedar chest years ago. Then she usually had the
paint licked off, the saw-dust coming out and her hair uncurled.” Again
Dick glanced around, grave as the proverbial judge. “You know, it does
not look to me as if any of those alarming things had _yet_ happened to
you, else I might try to turn doctor myself.”
Good-naturedly Barbara laughed. If her new acquaintance insisted upon
taking her as a joke, at least she had enough sporting blood not to
grow angry, or at least if she were angry not to reveal it.
“Well, what _are_ you going to be, Mr. Thornton?” Barbara queried,
shrugging her shoulders the slightest bit. “As long as you need not
develop into a physician on _my_ account, are you to be a lawyer like
your father?”
Dick suppressed a groan. To look at her would you ever have imagined
that this little prairie flower of a girl would develop into a
serious-minded young woman demanding to hear about “your career”? Any
such idea must be nipped in the bud at once.
“Oh, no, I am certainly _not_ going to study law, and if you don’t mind
my mentioning it, I get pretty bored with that suggestion. Everybody
I meet thinks because my father is one of the biggest lawyers in the
country that I must become his shadow. It is all right being known as
my ‘father’s son’ up to a certain point, but I’m not anxious to have
comparisons made between us as lawyers.”
Barbara felt uncomfortable. She had not intended opening a subject that
seemed to be such an unfortunate one. So she only murmured, “I beg your
pardon.”
And though Dick laughed and answered, “Don’t mention it,” there was
little more conversation between them for the rest of the drive home.
But once at home in the big, sunny library, stretched out in an arm
chair, smoking while the girls were drinking tea, the young man became
more amiable.
He had changed his outdoor clothes for a velvet smoking jacket and his
shoes for a pair of luxurious pumps.
“I say, Mildred, old girl, would you mind ringing the bell and having
Brown bring me some matches?” he asked. Finding his own gone, he had
simply turned his head and smiled upon his sister. It happened that the
bell was within only a few feet of him and she had to cross the room to
accomplish his desire.
Although Mildred was tired from a strenuous half hour devoted to
comforting her mother since their return from the ride, without
protesting or even appearing surprised, she did as she was asked.
But Barbara Meade felt her own cheeks flushing. One need not stay
in the Thornton household for four entire days, as she had, before
becoming aware that it was the son of the family to whom every knee
must bow. His mother, sister, the servants appeared to adore him.
It was true that Judge Thornton attempted to show a little more
consideration for his daughter, but he was so seldom at home and when
there his attention was usually upon some problem of his own.
More than once Barbara had felt sorry for Mildred. Of course, her
position looked like an enviable one as the only daughter of a wealthy
and distinguished man, with a beautiful mother and a charming brother.
Nevertheless, however little one liked to criticize their hostess even
in one’s own mind, Barbara could not but see that Mildred Thornton’s
life with her mother was a difficult one.
In the first place, Mrs. Thornton was a fashionable society woman. In
spite of what might seem to most people riches, she was constantly
talking about how extremely poor they were and how she hoped that
Dick and Mildred would make matches that would bring money into the
family. She had the same dark eyes and olive coloring that her son
had inherited, and as her hair was a beautiful silver-white, it made
her face appear younger. She seemed to treat her daughter Mildred’s
plainness as a personal insult to herself and behaved as though Mildred
could have no feeling in the matter. Several times the visitor had
heard her refer to her daughter’s lack of beauty before strangers.
But that Dick Thornton should dare treat his sister with the same lack
of consideration was insufferable! Barbara had a short, straight little
nose with the delicate nostrils that belong to most sensitive persons.
Now she could not help their arching with disdain, although she hoped
no one would notice her.
Yet Dick was perfectly aware of her indignation and amused by it. He
was accustomed to having girls angry with him; it was one of the ways
in which they showed their interest.
“I wonder if I would like to know what Miss Barbara Meade is at this
moment thinking of me?” he demanded lazily, smiling from under his
half-closed brown eyes and blowing a wreath of soft gray smoke into a
halo about his own head.
The girl’s blue eyes had the trick of darkening suddenly. It was in
this way she betrayed her emotions before she could speak.
“I was thinking,” she answered in a clear, cold little voice, “that I
have always been sorry before I never had a brother. But now I am not
so sure.”
An abominably rude speech! The girl could not decide whether or not she
regretted having made it. Certainly there was an uncomfortable silence
in the big room until Mildred broke it.
She had been gazing thoughtfully into the fire, which the April day
made agreeable, and talking very little. Now she shook her head in
protest.
“Oh, brothers aren’t altogether bad,” she smiled.
Barbara stammered.
“No, of course not; I didn’t mean that. You must both forgive me. You
see, I have only a married sister who is years older than I am, and
my father. I suppose I have gotten too used to saying whatever pops
into my head. Perhaps the men in the west are more polite to girls
than eastern men. I don’t know exactly why, but they are bigger,
stronger men; they live outdoors and because their lives are sometimes
rough they try to have their manners gentle. Oh, goodness, I have
said something else impolite, haven’t I?” Barbara ended in such
consternation that her host and hostess both laughed.
“Oh, don’t mind me; please go right ahead if it relieves your
feelings,” Dick remarked so humorously that Barbara felt it might be
difficult to dislike him intensely, however you might disapprove of him.
“Only,” he added, “don’t start shooting verbal fireworks at the poor
wounded soldiers whom you are going to attempt to nurse. If a fellow
is down and out they might prove fatal. I say, Mill, did you ever hear
anything more absurd? Miss Meade has an idea that she is going over
to nurse the British Tommies. She looks more like she needed a nurse
herself--with a perambulator.”
“Yes, I know, Barbara has talked it all over with me,” Mildred replied.
“We went together to the Red Cross headquarters today to see about
arrangements, when she could cross and what luggage she should take
with her. Four American girls are to go in a party and after they
arrive in England they will be sent where they are most needed. You
see, Barbara’s mother was an Irish woman, so she feels she is partly
British; and then her father was a West Point man. She meant to make
her living as a nurse anyhow, so why shouldn’t she be allowed to help
in the war? I understand exactly how Barbara feels.”
Still gazing into the fire, Mildred’s face had grown paler and more
determined. “You see, I am going with her. I offered my own services
and was accepted this morning. We sail in ten days,” she concluded.
“You, Mildred? What utter tommy-rot!” Dick exclaimed inelegantly. “The
mater is apt to lock you up in your room on a bread-and-water diet for
ten days for even suggesting such a thing.” Then he ceased talking
abruptly and pretended to be stifling a yawn. For, glancing up, he had
discovered that his mother was unexpectedly standing in the doorway.
She was dressed for dinner and looked very beautiful in a lavender
satin gown, but the expression on her face was not cheering.
Evidently she had overheard Mildred’s confession and his sister was
in for at least a bad quarter of an hour. Personally Dick hoped his
own words had not betrayed her. For although he was a fairly useless,
good-for-nothing character, he wasn’t a cad, and for some reason or
other he particularly did not wish their visitor to consider him one.