In the same sitting room and in the same chair, half an hour later, sat
Barbara Meade, but in a changed mood. She was alone.
More ridiculously childish than ever she looked, with her small face
white and tears forcing their way into her eyes and down her cheeks.
Yet from the music room adjoining the library came such exquisite
strains of a world-old and world-lovely melody sung in a charming tenor
voice, that the girl was compelled to listen.
“Drink to me only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine.”
Straight through the song went on to the end. But when it was finally
finished there was a moment’s silence. Then Dick Thornton appeared,
standing between the portieres dividing the two rooms.
“Say, I am awfully sorry there was such a confounded row,” he began.
“But there is no use taking the matter so seriously, it is poor Mill’s
funeral, not yours. You seem to be the kind of independent young female
who goes ahead and does whatever reckless thing she likes without
asking anybody’s advice. But I do wish you would give the scheme up
too. Mildred will never be allowed to go with you. I don’t approve of
it any more than mother does. Just you stay on in New York and I’ll
show you the time of your life.”
Dick looked so friendly and agreeable, enough to have softened almost
any heart. But Barbara was still thinking of the past half hour.
“Thank you,” she returned coldly. “I haven’t the faintest idea of
giving up my purpose, even to ‘have the time of my life.’ And I do
think you were hateful not to have stood by your sister. Besides,
you might at least have said that you did not believe I had tried to
influence Mildred, when your mother accused me. She was extremely
unkind.”
Entering the library Dick now took a chair not far from their
visitor’s, so that he could plainly observe the expressions on her face.
“Of course, I didn’t stand up for Mill; I wouldn’t let her go into all
that sorrow and danger, even if mother consented,” he protested. “Your
coming here and all the talk you two girls have had about the poor,
brave, wounded soldiers and such stuff, of course has influenced Mill.
It has even influenced me--a little. But the fact is the war in Europe
isn’t our job.”
“No, perhaps not,” the girl answered slowly, perhaps that she might add
the greater effect; “but would you mind telling me just what is your
job? You have already told me so many things that were not. Is it doing
one-steps and fox trots and singing fairly well? I presume I don’t
understand New York society, for out west our young men, no matter how
rich their fathers happen to be, try to amount to something themselves;
they do _some_ kind of work.”
Under his nonchalant manner Dick had become angry. But no one knew
better than he the value of appearing cool in a disagreement with a
girl. So he only shrugged his shoulders in a dandified fashion.
“I wonder why you think I am not at present engaged in a frantic
search for a job on which to expend my magnificent energy?” Here
Dick purposely yawned, extending his long legs into a more reposeful
position. “The fact is, I believe I must have been waiting for an
uncommonly frank young person from the west to give me the benefit
of her advice. What would you suggest as a career for me? Remember,
I saved your life this afternoon, so you may devote it to the
unfortunate. Now what would you think of my turning chauffeur? I’m not
a bad one; you ask our man. Who knows, perhaps driving an automobile is
my real gift!”
Of course, her companion’s good humor again put her in the wrong,
although Barbara knew that she was wrong in any case. For what possible
right had she, after having known Dick Thornton less than a week, to
undertake to tell him what he should or should not do? It was curious
what a fighting instinct he had immediately aroused in her! She felt
that she would almost like to hit him in order to make him wake up and
realize that there was something in life besides being handsome and
good-natured and smiling lazily upon the world.
However, Barbara now clasped her hands together, church fashion,
inclining her curly head.
“Beg pardon again. After all, what should a Prince Charming be
except a Prince Charming?” she murmured. “You are a kind of liberal
education. I’ve lived such a work-a-day life, I can’t understand why
it seems so dreadful to you and your family to do the work one loves
in the place where it seems to be most needed. We nurses will be under
orders from people older and wiser than we are. If we come close to
suffering--well, one can’t live very long without doing that. But I
don’t want to bore you; you will be rid of me for life in a little
while, and I’ll leave now if your mother and father feel my plans are
affecting Mildred.”
“You will do no such thing.” Dick’s voice was curt and less polite than
usual, but it was certainly decisive and so ended the discussion.
A few minutes later, apparently in a happier frame of mind, Barbara
Meade was about to go upstairs when at the door she turned toward her
companion.
“Please don’t think I fail to understand, Mr. Thornton, your not
wishing Mildred to go through the discomforts and even the dangers of
nursing the wounded soldiers. I suppose every nice brother naturally
wishes to protect and look after his sister. I told you I had never had
a brother, but you must not think for that reason I cannot appreciate
what you must feel.”
Then with a quick movement characteristic of her smallness and grace,
Barbara was gone.
Nevertheless Dick remained in the library alone until almost dinner
time.
Barbara was right in believing that he hated the thought of his sister
Mildred’s being away from the care and affection of her own family.
Mildred might not be so handsome as he wished her and wasn’t much of
a talker, still there was no doubt that she was a trump in lots of
ways. Besides, after all, she was one’s own and only sister. Yet Dick
was honest with himself. It was not Mildred alone whom he desired to
protect from hardships. Absurd, of course, when the girl was almost a
stranger to him, yet Barbara Meade appeared more unfitted for the task
that she insisted upon undertaking than his sister. In the first place,
Barbara was younger, and certainly a hundred times prettier. Then in
spite of her ridiculous temper she was so tiny and looked so like a
child that one could only laugh at her. Moreover--oh, well, the worst
of it was, Dick felt convinced that she was just the kind of a girl he
could have a delightful time with, if he had a proper chance. She had
confessed to loving to dance in spite of her sarcasm. So she should
have at least a few dances with him before fate swept her out of his
way forever.
* * * * *
Ten days later, as early as nine o’clock in the morning, Mrs.
Thornton’s limousine was to be seen threading its way in and out among
the trucks and wagons along lower Broadway on its way to the American
Line steamship pier, No. 62.
Inside the car were seated Mrs. Thornton and Mildred, Judge Thornton,
Dick and Barbara Meade. Behind them a taxicab piled with luggage was
following. The “Philadelphia” was sailing at eleven o’clock that
morning and included among her passenger list four American Red Cross
nurses on their way to a mission of relief and love.
In the Thornton automobile not alone was Barbara Meade arrayed for an
ocean crossing, but Mildred Thornton also appeared to be wearing a
traveling outfit. More extraordinary, the greater part of the luggage
on the taxicab behind them bore the initials “M. F. T.” Besides,
Mildred was sitting close to her father with her cheek pressed against
his shoulder and holding tight to his hand, while the Judge looked
entirely and completely miserable.
Should anything happen to Mildred, he, who loved her best, would be
responsible. For he had finally yielded to her persuasions, upholding
her in her desire, against the repeated objections of his wife and son.
Just why he had come round to Mildred’s wish, for the life of him the
Judge could not now decide. What was happening to this world anyhow
when girls, even a gentle, sweet-tempered one like Mildred, insisted
on “making something of their own lives,” “doing something useful,”
“following their own consciences and not some one’s else?” Really the
Judge could not at present recall with what arguments and pleadings his
daughter had finally influenced him. But he did wonder why at present
he should feel so utterly dejected at the thought of Mildred’s leaving,
when her mother appeared positively triumphant.
Yet the fact is that within the last few days Mrs. Thornton had
entirely changed her original point of view. She had discovered that
instead of Mildred’s engaging in an enterprise both unwomanly and
unbecoming, actually she was doing the most fashionable thing of the
hour. Never before had Mildred received so much notice and praise.
Positively her mother glowed remembering what their friends had been
saying of Mildred’s nobility of character. How fine it was that she
had a nature that could not be satisfied with nothing save social
frivolities!
Letters of introduction to a number of the best people in England had
been pouring in upon them. One from Mrs. Whitehall to her sister, the
Countess of Sussex, was particularly worth while. Mrs. Thornton had
never before known that she dared include the writer among her friends.
Moreover, Mildred had lately been receiving unexpected attentions from
the young men who had never before paid her the slightest notice. Half
a dozen of them within the past few days had called to say good-by
and express their admiration of her pluck. Two or three had declared
themselves openly envious of her. For if there were great things going
on in the world, no matter how tragic and dreadful, one would feel
tremendously worth while to be right on the spot and able to judge for
oneself.
Then Dick had reported that Mildred had been more than a halfway belle
at a dance that he had insisted upon his sister and their visitor
attending before they shut themselves off from all amusements. Such a
lot of fellows wanted to talk to Mill about her plans that they seemed
not to care that she could not dance any better.
Although there were only between fifty and sixty passengers booked for
sailing on the “Philadelphia’s” list, the big dock was crowded with
freight of every kind.
On an adjoining dock there was a tremendous stamping of horses. Not far
off one of the Atlantic Transport boats was being rapidly transformed
into a gigantic stable. Its broad passenger decks were being divided
into hundreds of box stalls. Into the hold immensely heavy boxes were
being hoisted with derricks and cranes. The whole atmosphere of the
New York Harbor front appeared to have changed. Where once there used
to be people about to sail for Europe now there appeared to be things
taking their place. No longer were pleasure-loving Americans crossing
the ocean, but the product of their lands and their hands.
However, Mildred and Barbara gave only a cursory attention to these
impersonal matters, and Mildred’s family very little more. They were
deeply interested in a meeting which was soon to take place.
Their little party was to consist of four American nurses sent out to
assist the British Red Cross wherever their services were most needed.
So far Mildred and Barbara had not even seen the other two girls.
However, Judge and Mrs. Thornton had been assured that one was an older
woman, who had already had some years’ experience in nursing and could
also act as chaperon. About the fourth girl nothing of any kind had
been told them.
Therefore, within five minutes after their arrival at the wharf, Miss
Moore, one of the Red Cross workers in the New York headquarters from
whom the girls had received instructions, joined them. With her was
a girl, or a young woman (for she might be any age between twenty
or thirty) for whom Mildred and Barbara both conceived an immediate
prejudice. They were not willing to call the sensation dislike,
because travelers upon a humanitarian crusade must dislike no one, and
especially not one of their fellow laborers.
Eugenia Peabody was the stranger’s name. She had come from a small
town in Massachusetts. Her clothes were severely plain, a rusty brown
walking suit that must have seen long service, as well as a shabby
brown coat. Then she had on an absurd hat that looked like a man’s, and
her hair was parted in the middle and drawn back on either side. She
had handsome dark eyes, so that one could not call her exactly ugly.
Only she seemed terribly cold and superior and unsympathetic.
But the fourth girl, Miss Moore explained, by some accident had
failed to arrive in time for the steamer. She was to have come from
Charleston, South Carolina, having made her application and sent her
credentials from there. It was foolish of her to have waited until the
last hour before arriving in New York. Now her train had been delayed,
and as her passage had been engaged, the money would simply have to be
wasted. Had the Red Cross Society known beforehand, another nurse could
have taken her place.
The next hour and a half was one of painful confusion. Surely so few
passengers never before had so many friends to see them off. Farewells
these days meant more than partings under ordinary circumstances. No
matter what pretense might be made to the contrary, in every mind,
deep in every heart was the possibility that a passenger steamer might
strike a floating mine.
Of course, Barbara had been forced to say her hardest farewells before
leaving her home in Nebraska. Nevertheless, she could not now help
sharing Mildred’s emotions and those of her family. Besides, the
Thorntons had been so kind to her in the past two weeks. Mrs. Thornton
had apologized for blaming her for Mildred’s decision, but after all
it was easy to understand her feeling in the matter. Judge Thornton
was one of the biggest-hearted, dearest men in the world. Then there
was Dick! Of course, he was a good-for-nothing fellow who would never
amount to much except to be a spoiled darling all his days! Yet
certainly he was attractive and had been wonderfully sweet-tempered and
courteous to her.
Even this morning he had never allowed her to feel lonely for an
instant. Always he saw that she was among the groups of their friends
who were showering attentions upon Mildred--books and flowers and
sweets, besides various extraordinary things which she was recommended
to use in her work.
Dick’s farewell present Barbara thought a little curious. It was an
extremely costly electric lamp mounted in silver to carry about in her
pocket.
“It is to help you see your way, if you should ever get lost or have to
go out at night while you are doing that plagued nursing,” he whispered
just as the final whistles blew and the friends of the passengers were
being put ashore.
As Dick ran down the gang-plank, both Mildred and Barbara were watching
him with their eyes full of tears. Suddenly he had to step aside in
order not to run over a girl hurrying up the plank from the shore. She
was dressed in deep mourning; her hair was of the purest gold and her
eyes brown. She had two boys with her, each one of them carrying an
extraordinary looking old-fashioned carpet bag of a pattern of fifty
years ago.
“I regret it if I have kept you waiting,” she said in a soft, drawling
voice to one of the stewards who happened to be nearest the gang-plank.
“I’ve come all the way from Charleston, South Carolina, and my train
was four hours late.”
The tears driven away by curiosity, Mildred and Barbara now stared at
each other. Was this the fourth girl who was to accompany them as a Red
Cross nurse? She looked less like a nurse than any one of them. Why,
she was as fragile as possible herself, and evidently had never been
away from home before in her life. Now she was under the impression
that the steamer had been kept waiting for her. Certainly she was
apologizing to the steward for delaying them.
Yet a glance at their older companion and both girls felt a warm
companionship for the newcomer. For if Miss Peabody had been
discouraged on being introduced to them, it was nothing to the disfavor
she now allowed herself to show at the appearance of the fourth member
of their little Red Cross band.
A little later, with deep blasts from her whistle, the “Philadelphia”
began to move out. Amid much waving of handkerchiefs, both on deck and
on shore, the voyage had begun.