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<pre>
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Polly in New York, by Lillian Elizabeth Roy
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Title: Polly in New York
Author: Lillian Elizabeth Roy
Illustrator: H. S. Barbour
Release Date: September 17, 2011 [EBook #37459]
Language: English
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<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i001' id='i001'></a>
<img src="images/illus-fpc.jpg" alt="ELEANOR HELD OUT THE SEAL, BUT JIM LOOKED FORLORN. (Page 77)" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>ELEANOR HELD OUT THE SEAL, BUT JIM LOOKED FORLORN. (<em>Page 77</em>)</span>
</div>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p><span style='font-size:1.6em;font-weight:bold;'>POLLY</span></p>
<p><span style='font-size:1.6em;font-weight:bold;'>IN NEW YORK</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>BY</p>
<p><span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>LILLIAN ELIZABETH ROY</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Author of</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>POLLY OF PEBBLY PIT, POLLY IN NEW YORK,</p>
<p>POLLY AND HER FRIENDS ABROAD, POLLY’S</p>
<p>BUSINESS VENTURE.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>ILLUSTRATED BY</p>
<p>H. S. BARBOUR</p>
<p> </p>
<p>NEW YORK</p>
<p>GROSSET & DUNLAP</p>
<p>PUBLISHERS</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Made in the United States of America</p>
</div>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<h1>POLLY IN NEW YORK</h1>
<h2><a name='chI' id='chI'></a>CHAPTER I—IN THE BIG CITY</h2>
<p>
The long Pullman train, that left Denver
behind and carried Polly Brewster away on her
first venture from the ranch-home, was fitted up
as luxuriously as capital could do it. Eleanor
Maynard, Polly’s bosom friend, enjoyed her companion’s
awe and wonderment—that a mere <em>car</em>
should be so furnished.
</p>
<p>
“Nolla,” whispered Polly, furtively glancing
about, “how different are these cars from the ones
that come in and go out at Oak Creek!”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor, whose pet name was Nolla, laughed.
“I should think they would be, Polly. Why,
those ‘ancients’ that rock back and forth between
Denver and Oak Creek, are the ‘only originals’
now in existence. They’ll be in Barnum’s Show
next Season as curios.”
</p>
<p>
Polly seemed to fully appreciate the comfort of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1'></a>1</span>
her traveling carriage, and remarked, “One would
hardly believe these cars are going at all! They
run so smoothly and without any awful screeching
of the joints.”
</p>
<p>
Anne Stewart, the teacher to whose charge
these two girls had been committed, had been
studying the time-table, but she smiled at Polly’s
words. Then she turned to her mother, a sweet-faced
woman who was enjoying the trip almost as
much as the young girls were, and said: “Mother,
we’ll have at least seven hours in Chicago before
we have to take the New York train. We can visit
Paul all that time.”
</p>
<p>
“Goody! Then Poll can visit John and I can
see Daddy,” exclaimed Eleanor, eagerly. “But
we must first charter the wash-room to turn
ourselves from dusty travelers into respectable
citizens.”
</p>
<p>
“There isn’t a fleck of dust to be seen, Anne,”
objected Polly, glancing around the tidy interior,
then at herself and friends.
</p>
<p>
“Wait till after we have crossed the plains and
passed through all kinds of towns—we won’t look
like the same people.”
</p>
<p>
To Polly, that journey was a source of great interest
and fun. The dining-car, the folding tables
for games or work, the sleeping arrangements—all
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2'></a>2</span>
were so strangely different from the vast open-air
life of the ranch.
</p>
<p>
Then the express train reached Chicago and the
recess hours were filled with greetings, visits and
then good-bys, before the little party of four was
on its last lap of the journey.
</p>
<p>
After leaving Chicago, Eleanor asked curiously:
“What did you think of our city, Polly?”
</p>
<p>
“I never saw such crowds of troubled people!
Everyone looked as if the worries of the universe
rested upon his mind. And not one soul walked
or acted as if there was a moment to spare before
the end of the world would throw everything into
chaos!”
</p>
<p>
Polly’s graphic description caused her companions
to laugh, and Eleanor added: “If that
is what you think of Chicago, just wait until you
reach New York. The folks, there, are simply
wild! Now Chicago is considered quite slow, in
comparison.”
</p>
<p>
Polly stared unbelievingly at Eleanor, and Anne
Stewart laughed. But Mrs. Stewart placed a calm
hand over the amazed girl’s throbbing wrist, and
said sweetly: “Nolla is joking as usual.”
</p>
<p>
The four members which composed this little
group of travelers arrived at Grand Central just
before noon. Polly gazed in consternation at the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3'></a>3</span>
vast station where the constant going and coming
of trains and people made a most interesting sight
for her.
</p>
<p>
“We’ll stop at the Commodore for a few days,
girls, as it is so convenient for us,” remarked
Anne, telling a porter to conduct them to the hotel
mentioned.
</p>
<p>
Placed in a comfortable suite, Anne remarked:
“I think we will call up the Evans or the Latimers,
next. You remember, we were told to let them
know the moment we arrived.”
</p>
<p>
The others agreed to this suggestion, so Anne
telephoned the two families. Mrs. Latimer was
out, but Mrs. Evans said she would come right
down town to meet the new-comers.
</p>
<p>
“Well, we can unpack our bags while we are
waiting for her,” suggested Anne. “But we must
manage to get to a store this afternoon, and do
some shopping for Polly.”
</p>
<p>
“Dear me! I was hoping you would show us all
the sky-scrapers I’ve read about,” said Polly,
eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“I planned to let the sight-seeing wait for a few
days, as we <em>must</em> secure a place to live in, first of
all. Here it is the middle of September, and I
have to start school work the first of October, you
know. In a great city like New York, the desirable
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4'></a>4</span>
apartments are generally taken as early as
July and August. So we are up against it, in
beginning to seek so late in the season.”
</p>
<p>
“But we can’t hunt at night, Anne, and you
might take us out to show us the Great White
Way—as the boys call it,” urged Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Evans came down in time to have luncheon
with the Westerners, and in the hour she visited
with them, it was learned that Mrs. Latimer and
she had scoured the uptown west-side for suitable
apartments for Mrs. Stewart, but everything had
been leased long before. She concluded with:
</p>
<p>
“So I really do not see what you are going to
do, unless you just happen to stumble over a place
which has recently been resigned. There is absolutely
no use in doing any place above Ninety-sixth
street, as we sought diligently from that street
up as far as One Hundred and Sixty-eighth street,
and not a decent thing to be seen or had!”
</p>
<p>
“But Ninety-sixth street is awfully far uptown,
isn’t it?” asked Anne, to whom the city was as yet
a small middle-west town.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, dear, no! It is about the center of the
city, between North and South, these days.”
</p>
<p>
“I’m sure we will find just what we want, dear
Mrs. Evans, but we are grateful to you for being
so kind to us,” said Polly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5'></a>5</span>
</p>
<p>
“My dear child, I feel that I have done <em>nothing</em>
in comparison to all you have done for me and
mine. To know that my dear brother had friends
during the last days of his life, means so much to
me. I always had a horrible feeling that he died
in the Klondike without money or friends;” and
Mrs. Evans hurriedly dried the tears welling up
in her eyes.
</p>
<p>
Of course, that launched the conversation about
Old Man Montresor, and so interested were all
concerned, that Mrs. Evans started when she
heard the mantel clock chime the hour.
</p>
<p>
“Merciful goodness! Here am I—my first
call, and staying all day!” she laughed.
</p>
<p>
“It’s not late, Mrs. Evans. We were only going
to look up a first-class shop where Polly can
buy a few things,” replied Anne.
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps I can be of service in recommending
a place?”
</p>
<p>
Several shops of quality were spoken of, and
as these were located on Fifth avenue, not far
from Forty-second street, everyone felt relieved.
It would not take much time to do this necessary
shopping, but Mrs. Stewart preferred to remain
at the hotel.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Evans said good-by and the three young
folks walked to Fifth avenue. It was about four
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6'></a>6</span>
o’clock and the avenue presented an endless stream
of automobiles—one line going down, and the
other line going uptown. The crowds of people
hurrying to and fro made Polly tremble.
</p>
<p>
“For goodness’ sake, Anne, where <em>do</em> all these
folks come from, and where are they rushing
to?”
</p>
<p>
Anne and Eleanor laughed.
</p>
<p>
“Well! If this is your wonderful Fifth avenue,
I don’t think much of it,” declared Polly, a few
moments later.
</p>
<p>
“Why—it’s simply great!” exclaimed Eleanor,
having a far different view-point of the city.
</p>
<p>
“Great! Why, just look how narrow the street
is? Main street, in Oak Creek, is twice as wide.
And Denver has nicer streets than this famous
alley you hear so much about,” scorned Polly.
</p>
<p>
Again her companions laughed merrily. At this
moment a traffic policeman sounded a shrill
whistle. Instantly the mass of pedestrians, backed
up on the curbs, started to cross. Or to use Polly’s
own description in the letter she wrote home that
night: “Really, dearies, they catapulted back and
forth like rockets! We had to rush with them, or
be trampled upon. It is just awful!
</p>
<p>
“And such freaks, mother! Nolla says it is
style. Well, all I can say is, spare me from such
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7'></a>7</span>
outrageous styles! Most every woman and girl I
met had faces covered thick with layers of white
chalk, with a daub of red on each cheek, and lips
as scarlet as a clown’s. In fact, I had to stand
stock-still and look at one queer creature—she
looked exactly as if she was made up for a circus.
Anne and Nolla laugh at me, all the time. But I
don’t care, so! These horrid painted things are
not <em>nice</em>!
</p>
<p>
“If I hadn’t set my heart on being an interior
decorator, I’d take up lecturing, and teach these
crazy New Yorkers how to look and enjoy a simple
life.”
</p>
<p>
From the above account you can see how one
day’s experience in New York impressed the girl
of the Mountain Ranges in the West.
</p>
<p>
Polly, accustomed as she was to the overstocked
store in Oak Creek, where shelves were stacked
high with all sorts of merchandise, opened her eyes
as Anne led her into a quiet parlor-like room that
opened directly from Fifth avenue. She stared
around for a glimpse of the gowns she expected
to see; but nothing like one was to be seen. The
dignified lady who met Anne, and a few other well-dressed
women who conversed in low tones with
each other, did not look like Polly’s idea of shop-girls.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8'></a>8</span>
</p>
<p>
Anne’s lady conducted them to a lift, and they
shot up two stories. Again they came out into a
lovely lounging-room, but still no sign of dresses.
The lady pushed a button, and another woman
hurried in.
</p>
<p>
“Measurements of this young lady. She will
need several gowns for afternoon and street wear;
possibly, an evening dress.”
</p>
<p>
Then Polly was scientifically measured, and in
a short time a number of models were brought for
her inspection and approval. These were placed
upon forms, and every desirable detail of the
gowns was pointed out to Anne and the girls.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, I just love that one, Poll!” cried Eleanor,
gazing with rapt eyes at an imported model.
</p>
<p>
“Isn’t it clumsy at the back? And see how narrow
the bottom of the skirt is. Maybe they didn’t
have enough goods to make it any wider?” commented
Polly.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor giggled but Anne explained to Polly.
The saleslady seemed not to have heard the western
girl’s objection to the gown.
</p>
<p>
Then it was tried on Polly, and she saw how
very becoming it was. But when she endeavored
to walk over to the full-length mirror, she almost
fell down upon the rug.
</p>
<p>
“Mercy, Anne! I never can amble about in this
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9'></a>9</span>
binder! Get me something sensible,” complained
Polly.
</p>
<p>
But Eleanor liked the dress and as it fitted her,
also, she said she would take it as long as Polly
didn’t.
</p>
<p>
“Take it and welcome, Nolla! but I pity <em>you</em>
if you try to scoot over the crossings of Fifth avenue
in <em>that</em> skirt,” laughed Polly.
</p>
<p>
Other gowns were brought and Polly finally
found several that she liked, with wide enough
skirts to suit her comfort. Then Anne asked for
the bills. The list was added up and when the
total was mentioned Polly almost fainted. If she
had not been seated, she might have crumpled to
the floor.
</p>
<p>
“We’ll take that gown with us, the others you
may send,” said Anne, taking up the one to be
wrapped. Then she gave the name and address
where the other dresses were to be sent. A fat
roll of yellow bills now came from Anne’s hand-bag,
and she paid the enormous sum—or, at least,
Polly thought it was enormous for so few dresses.
</p>
<p>
Safely out of hearing of the fashionable sales-ladies,
Polly whispered: “Anne, you paid <em>hundreds</em>
of dollars for those things!”
</p>
<p>
Anne nodded, smilingly. Eleanor said: “Why,
that wasn’t much for what we got, Poll. The dress
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10'></a>10</span>
I bought is <em>imported</em>! And a model, at that. It
was a bargain at that price.”
</p>
<p>
Polly sighed. Would she ever be able to accommodate
herself to such a changed life as this
one now seemed to be? Her friends laughed at
the sigh and expression of doubt on her face.
</p>
<p>
As Anne led her protegées past the hotel desk,
a very polite clerk said: “A ’phone call for you,
Miss Stewart, at five-ten P. M.”
</p>
<p>
Anne was handed the slip and read: “Mr.
Latimer called up. Said he would call again at
six-thirty.”
</p>
<p>
“Maybe he wants us to go somewhere, to-night!”
suggested Eleanor, eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“Well, you won’t go to-night, if he does ask
you. It’s bed at nine, for everyone of us, because
we have a hard day of house-hunting before us,
to-morrow,” decreed Anne, courageously.
</p>
<p>
But Eleanor was given no cause to argue that
evening, for Mr. Latimer called up to invite them
all to go to the Mardi Gras at Coney Island the
following evening. He said the Evans and Latimers
would call at the hotel, in two cars, about six
o’clock and take them to supper at the Island.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, goody! I never saw Coney Island but I’ve
heard so much about it!” cried Eleanor, dancing
about the room.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11'></a>11</span>
</p>
<p>
“I have read how dreadful a place it is,” ventured
Polly.
</p>
<p>
“That’s another point of view, Polly. If you
go down there to enjoy the fun and games, and
see the ocean, then you will have nothing but frolic
and sea. But if one is in quest of crime, then it
can be found festering there, just as it is in every
other section of a large city,” explained Anne.
</p>
<p>
“But we are only going for a frolic,” added
Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“I should hope so!” Polly said, so fervently,
that Anne had to laugh heartily.
</p>
<p>
After dinner that night, Anne said: “I think
Polly ought to see a sight that no other city can
offer—that is the wondrous advertising signs on
Broadway about Times Square, at night.”
</p>
<p>
“I am too weary to go out, daughter, but you
take the girls,” Mrs. Stewart remarked, so they
hurriedly donned their hats and gloves.
</p>
<p>
When they reached the famous corner of
Forty-second street and Broadway, and stood at
the uptown side of Times Square Triangle to look
at the lights, Polly was speechless.
</p>
<p>
“Why, it’s as bright as day, everywhere,” whispered
she.
</p>
<p>
“And just see the moving ads. up on the roofs!”
cried Eleanor, delighting in the scene.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12'></a>12</span>
</p>
<p>
“I thought there were hordes of mad folks on
the streets this afternoon, but this beats everything!”
exclaimed Polly, watching both sides of
Broadway from her vantage ground. “Honestly,
Anne, do they not act obsessed, jostling and rushing
as if Death drove them? They never seem
to mind trolleys, autos, or policemen. They swirl
and fly every which way, regardless of everyone
and everything.”
</p>
<p>
“I just love this excitement!” sighed Eleanor,
smiling.
</p>
<p>
“Well, I hope to goodness we will live far
enough away from all this to let me forget it once
in a while,” said Polly.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, you’ll love it, too, pretty soon,” Eleanor
said, confidently.
</p>
<p>
“Never! This is Bedlam to me. When I write
home about it, I shall tell father that it reminds
me of the story of Sodom and Gomorrah when
fire and brimstone fell and destroyed those cities.
I bet the folks never acted any wilder, there, than
these New Yorkers do, here.”
</p>
<p>
Anne laughed at Polly’s vivid disgust, and suggested
that they return to the hotel.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, no, Anne! It is only eight-thirty. And
for New York that only begins an evening, you
know. Let’s get up on top of one of the buses on
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13'></a>13</span>
Fifth avenue and take the round trip. That ride
will show Polly lots of sights: the Flat Iron Building,
Riverside Drive and the Hudson, and heaps
of things.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor prevailed, and after a delightful drive
of an hour, the little party was glad to get to the
hotel and drop into bed.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14'></a>14</span><a name='chII' id='chII'></a>CHAPTER II—HOUSE HUNTING IN NEW YORK</h2>
<p>
Before the westerners awake to the new day,
let us renew our acquaintance with them.
</p>
<p>
Polly Brewster, of Pebbly Pit, born and reared
on that wonderful ranch in Colorado where the
lava-jewels were found, is for the first time in her
fourteen years, away from home. As she is at the
most impressionable age, her wise mother authorized
Anne Stewart, the young teacher who had
spent the summer with the Brewsters and who was
engaged to John Brewster, to spare no money
when fitting Polly out for her life in New York.
Mrs. Brewster wished Polly to feel herself the
equal of anyone she met, if it pertained to dress.
And style was about the only thing that Polly
lacked, having all fine qualities in her character.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor Maynard, of Chicago, now Polly’s
dearest friend, never had to count the cost of anything,
as her father was the best known and richest
banker of that great city. But because of her ill
health, being a protegée of Anne Stewart for the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15'></a>15</span>
past two years, this association had taught Eleanor
to think twice before she wasted her allowance.
</p>
<p>
And Anne Stewart, just past twenty-one, was
experienced for her age, because of her mother’s
dependence on her for most things, since the
father died many years before this story opens.
And Paul, her younger brother now at college in
Chicago (where the other boys also studied), was
there because his sister earned the money with
which to pay his expenses. Now that Anne
would participate in the shares of the gold mine
that had been discovered the day of the escape on
Grizzly Slide, the Stewarts had no need to practise
such strict economy as hitherto.
</p>
<p>
In the morning Polly was awakened by a knock
at her door. “Poll, someone wants to speak to
you over the ’phone,” said Anne.
</p>
<p>
“Me? Why, who can it be? I never talked
into one of those funny little black horns in my
life, Anne. Wait, and help me.”
</p>
<p>
In another moment Polly, in a pretty negligée—one
of the purchases of the previous afternoon—ran
out of her room. Anne sat her upon a stool
before the small stand and showed her how to hold
the instrument.
</p>
<p>
“Hello!” whispered Polly, half afraid that
something would pop out at her.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16'></a>16</span>
</p>
<p>
Eleanor had crept out of her room by this time,
and stood back of Polly, grinning at her friend’s
nervousness.
</p>
<p>
“Speak louder,” admonished Anne in Polly’s
ear.
</p>
<p>
“Hello!” shouted Polly, trying to adjust her
senses to the unfamiliar method of conversing with
an unseen individual.
</p>
<p>
Then a merry laugh and a familiar voice
sounded in her ear. Her face expressed amazement,
then pleased surprise, and then excitement.
She glanced up at Eleanor as the voice continued
speaking.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, we’re <em>so</em> glad to hear you are in the city.
Now we shall have <em>lovely</em> times!” exclaimed
Polly, finally.
</p>
<p>
A joyous boy’s voice continued talking but suddenly
it ceased, and Polly looked at Anne for an
explanation. The telephone receiver began clicking
strangely in her ear, and she held it at arm’s
length in fear of what might be going to explode
inside that queer tube.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor laughed and said, “Let me do the talking—it
sounds like Jim Latimer—is it?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, Ken and he landed from the West at midnight,
and they are going to the Mardi Gras with
us to-night.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17'></a>17</span>
</p>
<p>
Eleanor now took the telephone, and by the
time the operator managed to connect the interrupted
wires, she was ready to chat as if she had
nothing else to do. After ten minutes of silly boy
and girl talk, Anne whispered: “Oh, do stop,
Nolla! It is eight o’clock and we want to fill a
good day with work.”
</p>
<p>
“I’ve got to ring off, now, Jim, but we’ll see you
to-night. Good-by!” Then Eleanor turned to her
companions, and said:
</p>
<p>
“Well, that’s good news, Polly! To have the
boys in the city to show us a good time before we
start school.”
</p>
<p>
Without saying anything to cause the girls to
object because this “good time” with the boys
might be indefinitely postponed, Anne made up her
mind that a home would and <em>must</em> be secured
before anyone planned for pleasure or fun.
</p>
<p>
That day, they sought in buildings on every
block uptown that had been left uninspected by
Mrs. Latimer and Mrs. Evans, but with no success.
If an apartment of five to seven rooms was
found, it would be found to be dark, dirty, or in
an objectionable neighborhood. They were ready
to pay a high rent for six or seven rooms, but
nothing suitable could be found.
</p>
<p>
When they returned to the hotel, at five o’clock,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18'></a>18</span>
to wash and dress for the outing that evening,
everyone felt discouraged. “And these poor deluded
New Yorkers call the band-boxes we saw
to-day, apartment rooms?” said Polly, sneering
at the homes but not at the poor inmates.
</p>
<p>
“Owners dare not build the rooms larger, Polly,
because real estate in this city is so valuable and
taxable. Every inch of property has to be made
the most of. You know, that is why a builder, in
large cities, runs his structures up in the sky—the
sky doesn’t charge taxes on so much per foot, but
the ground the building stands on does.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, I never thought of that! So that is why
New York houses go up twenty and thirty stories,
eh? The owner has to get his rents out of the
air and sky, and pay it over to the land-assessor,”
Polly exclaimed, in a tone of understanding.
</p>
<p>
Her friends laughed. “You are an apt pupil,
Poll,” said Anne.
</p>
<p>
When their hosts for the evening called for
Anne and her party, they were all ready and eager
to start. So they were soon seated in the two cars;
Jim driving one, with Polly seated beside him, and
Ken, Eleanor and Anne in the back seat. Mrs.
Stewart was welcomed with the two ladies and the
two men in the other car.
</p>
<p>
“Now, Jim,” called Mr. Latimer, “you be sure
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19'></a>19</span>
and trail me. I’ll go first, as I know every foot of
the road to Coney Island.”
</p>
<p>
Polly had never been in an automobile before,
and at first she felt frightened; but Jim chatted as
he drove, and seemed to take it all so naturally,
that she soon overcame the desire to clutch hold
on the side of the car.
</p>
<p>
There were hundreds of other automobiles all
going in the same direction, and when our two cars
reached the Boulevard, there was such a gay
stream of machines and people as the girls never
dreamed of before. Confetti, paper ribbons,
horns and what-not, were used by the passengers on
trolleys and in automobiles along the road until
the lighted spires of The Park, and other pleasure-giving
resorts of Coney Island were seen.
</p>
<p>
Polly looked so different in her smart clothes
that Jim Latimer wondered what had happened
to turn this pretty ranch girl into such a stunning
city girl in so short a time.
</p>
<p>
He kept glancing at her oval face, rounded with
health and vigor; at her straight little nose, her
wide-open, deep, soulful eyes that seemed to weigh
all things wisely; the heavy wavy hair that was
becomingly looped back from her face, and above
all, the rich glow in her cheeks, and the creamy
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20'></a>20</span>
complexion and fine texture of her skin. “Nothing
made-up there!” thought Jim.
</p>
<p>
But Polly was happily unaware of Jim’s wondering
approval, for she was too completely absorbed
in the sights about her. She could not have
told anyone what Jim looked like in his city
clothes. In fact, after the first hasty glance at
Ken and him, and the realization that they had
doffed their mountain outfits, she gave no second
thought to their clothes.
</p>
<p>
At Coney Island, that night, the girls enjoyed
one continual lark. Even Mrs. Stewart was urged
to go with the elder Latimers and the Evans upon
the chutes, the merry-go-rounds, the Twister, the
Winsome Waves, and what-not. Such a reckless
spirit of fun seemed to possess everyone in the
place, that it was contagious.
</p>
<p>
When the evening was almost over, and Polly
sighed with very surfeit of so much fun, the boys
managed to “lose” the elders and took the two
girls to the beach.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, how wonderful! I never thought of the
ocean. There was so much to see and to do that I
forgot Coney Island was right on the sea,” exclaimed
Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
But Polly said not a word. She was suddenly
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21'></a>21</span>
confronted with the restless mighty ocean that she
had always longed to see. The sense of frivolity
that had filled her for the last few hours vanished,
and she gave herself up to the power of that calm,
never-ceasing roll of water. A few minutes before
and she had been weary from so much laughter
and sport, but now a wonderful peace and rest
pervaded her being.
</p>
<p>
The boys understood this unusual effect of the
ocean upon one who had never seen anything like
it, and finally Polly heaved a sigh.
</p>
<p>
“Well, this is better than all else. It’s worth
coming so far east to see. It’s the only decent
thing of which New York can boast.”
</p>
<p>
Her companions laughed; after digging in the
soft sand for a short time, and exchanging youthful
view-points about everything in the universe,
they all sauntered back to the place where the two
cars had been parked.
</p>
<p>
A shout greeted them. “There, I <em>knew</em> you
boys had dodged us on purpose. But Miss Stewart
thought you were lost in this crowd.”
</p>
<p>
As everyone felt tired before the cars reached
New York City again, the conversation was intermittent.
But just before Mr. Latimer drove his
car up to the hotel, Mrs. Stewart learned how Dr.
and Mrs. Evans, Mrs. Latimer, and the two boys,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22'></a>22</span>
Jim and Ken, had spent that entire day home-hunting
for the westerners with no success.
</p>
<p>
“It seems very strange that in such a vast city
one is not able to find a decent apartment,” complained
Mrs. Stewart.
</p>
<p>
“We are told ‘because of the war.’ The war is
blamed for everything these days, but the real excuse
for owners not building now is because of the
high cost of material and labor. They are all
waiting for better times; meantime people must
take what can be had, or go without,” said Mr.
Latimer.
</p>
<p>
“After hunting the way we have for more than
a week, and not having found a suitable place,
Mrs. Stewart, I would suggest your finding a nice
boarding-house for the winter. If you put it off
too long, even those places will be filled,” advised
Mrs. Latimer.
</p>
<p>
“Dear me!” sighed Mrs. Stewart. “That was
suggested this morning, but I said it seemed dreadful,
when I came East just to make a home and
keep house for the three girls.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, it would be much pleasanter for everyone
to have a home, but in cases like this Fall’s shortage
of apartments, one must do what is most expedient,”
returned Mrs. Latimer.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Stewart told the girls, that night, what
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23'></a>23</span>
had been said, but they all felt sure something
<em>must</em> turn up in the next day or two. So the next
morning before starting out, they laid out a regular
plan of work.
</p>
<p>
“Mother and Eleanor will start where we left
off, yesterday, and weave a search back and forth
downtown until they reach the hotel. I will take
Polly and, beginning at Washington Square, work
uptown until we finish. If either of us find anything
at all decent, and in an agreeable neighborhood,
pay down a deposit to hold it and be sure
to get a receipt as a binder—Mr. Latimer told me
that much. Then we will all go for the second
inspection and decide. Dr. Evans said we’d better
pay down several deposits rather than lose a place,
as we can quickly sell out any option we have for
more than we paid down.”
</p>
<p>
Having instructed her friends, Anne added one
last bit of advice: “We will go as high as $3,000
a year for seven rooms, or $1,500 for four to five
rooms—no more, as that is all shelter is worth. If
we can’t find a place at that price, we’ll stay in a
hotel!”
</p>
<p>
So the second day of house-hunting went forward
by two divisions instead of one, and all that
day Mrs. Stewart and Eleanor experienced the
same snubs, weariness, and failures, as thousands of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24'></a>24</span>
other home-hunters in New York had.
And at evening they returned wearily to the hotel
to hear what Anne had accomplished.
</p>
<p>
“Polly and she have not yet arrived,” announced
Eleanor, as Mrs. Stewart and she entered their
suite.
</p>
<p>
“I hope she has had better luck than we can brag
about,” added Mrs. Stewart, dropping into an
easy chair.
</p>
<p>
A long time after the “first division” had returned,
baffled, to the hotel, Anne and Polly burst
into the room with happy faces.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, we just found the most wonderful place!
Polly and I actually <em>discovered</em> it. We were giving
up all hope of ever finding a decent apartment
at any reasonable figure, and had started for the
subway when we saw this one. The flower-boxes
caught Polly’s eye, so we are really indebted to her
for having secured our home.”
</p>
<p>
Anne’s enthusiasm was contagious, and instantly
Mrs. Stewart and Eleanor wanted to know where
it was located.
</p>
<p>
Anne and Polly exchanged smiling glances, as
if the secret was too precious to impart to others.
</p>
<p>
“I suppose you two did up the entire upper sections,
to-day, eh?” asked Anne, countering their
eager queries.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25'></a>25</span>
</p>
<p>
“Did we? I should say we did! I got a taxi
for the day and we flew from one pile of stone and
marble to the next, and so many rides up and down
in gorgeous elevators all day has kept my head
still spinning. But we had the same results as
yesterday. When you inspect one of these modern
honey-combs you see them all. The only difference
being that a few owners manage to retain the
elevator and telephone operators, while the majority
of superintendents apologise by saying, ‘My
help went on a strike, to-day.’
</p>
<p>
“It really looks, Anne, as if these poor New
Yorkers will have to move out to the country if
they want to live this year,” remarked Mrs. Stewart,
earnestly.
</p>
<p>
Her companions laughed and Anne said:
“Mother, you are too precocious. But now listen
to our ‘find’!
</p>
<p>
“As I planned, you two went uptown while
Polly and I went downtown from here. We covered
all the lower sections by criss-crossing back
and forth, but we came away from the Gramercy
Park section, late this afternoon, with an utter
sense of failure. In fact, I was silently planning
to inquire about good boarding-houses, when we
hailed a Lexington avenue car, going north.
</p>
<p>
“Being woolly westerners, we failed to ascertain
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26'></a>26</span>
how far northwards the car went, and having paid
our fares, sat down. I remember turning to Polly
and saying, ‘This is actually the first car in New
York that I have been on that wasn’t crowded to
the platforms.’”
</p>
<p>
Polly laughed at the remembrance, and Anne
smiled. “But it was our salvation, Anne,” ventured
the former.
</p>
<p>
Anne nodded and continued her story. “Then
we soon learned why there were vacant seats on
that car. A pleasant-faced, grey-haired man of
about fifty, must have overheard my comment because
he spoke to us after we were seated.
</p>
<p>
“‘Perhaps you did not know that this car goes
no farther north than the next block? It is
switched back downtown, from that point. Did
not the conductor mention it to you?’
</p>
<p>
“I was furious, and I replied: ‘No! he never
said a word when I paid the fares.’
</p>
<p>
“By this time the car stopped and the conductor
called out: ‘All out—dis car goes no furder. We
switch back next corner!’
</p>
<p>
“So Polly and I had to get off with the others.
When we stepped down from the car, the nice man
lifted his hat to us and said: ‘I judge you are
strangers in the city. Can I direct you anywhere?’
</p>
<p>
“I thanked him and told him we were only going as far
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27'></a>27</span>
as Forty-second street to the hotel. Then
I added, sarcastically: ‘But there may be no cars
which run as far north as that street!’
</p>
<p>
“He laughed and said: ‘You had better walk
over to Fourth avenue and get the car there. It
takes you through the tunnel much quicker than
the Lexington avenue car runs to Forty-second
street. But be careful and do not board a car that
stops at the car-house on Thirty-second street.’
</p>
<p>
“We all laughed at that, as it would have been
just like me to do so; then we thanked him and
started along Thirty-first street to reach the car.
And there we found our Haven of Hope!”
</p>
<p>
“Where? Not on Thirty-first street, I trust!”
exclaimed Mrs. Stewart. “Isn’t that section of the
city dreadful?”
</p>
<p>
“Not the block where we found a home,” explained
Anne. “It has several remodeled houses
and several other flat houses on it.”
</p>
<p>
“But just wait until you see our house—it’s
fine!” said Polly, eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“Polly caught hold of my arm and exclaimed:
‘Oh, Anne! see the lovely flower-boxes in that
cute little house!’
</p>
<p>
“I saw three narrow windows on the second
floor with green flower-boxes on the outside sills,
but then my eyes dropped lower and I spied a
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28'></a>28</span>
swinging sign at a side-door. It merely said: ‘To
Let’ inquire, etc. Polly saw it at the same moment,
so we stood and gazed at each other.
</p>
<p>
“‘Let’s try and peep in at this window,’ suggested
Polly.
</p>
<p>
“I agreed, and we did our best to see what was
within; but the long iron-lattice that covered the
four slits in the wide front doors, were covered
from the inside. So we went to hunt up the agent.
</p>
<p>
“His office was only a few blocks down Fourth
avenue, so Polly and I hurried there before it
should be closed for the day. A boy was told to
accompany us and we were soon inspecting the
premises. Our escort offered all the information
he had heard in the real estate office.
</p>
<p>
“‘This hain’t been on our books more’n a day.
I just hung out the sign this morning. The last
man what lived here was an artist and he fixed up
everything like you see it now. But he wanted the
owner to take out the stable doors and put in a
studio-winder, and when the owner wouldn’t spend
a cent, the artist up and moved. My boss said the
next tenant would insist on having the doors taken
out, so you might as well kick about them being
here, and see if you’se kin get the winder in.’”
</p>
<p>
Anne’s mimicry of the office-boy was perfect and
her hearers laughed, but Mrs. Stewart had caught
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29'></a>29</span>
the significant words: “Stable doors,” and now
she looked deeply concerned. Anne hastened to
end her narrative when she saw her mother’s
expression.
</p>
<p>
“So Polly and I went back to the agent’s, heard
the price of the place, and paid down half a
month’s rent to hold it until you all can go with us
to-morrow morning to approve of our selection.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Anne! how much was it a month?” exclaimed
Eleanor, eagerly, while Mrs. Stewart
looked dubious over such recklessness.
</p>
<p>
“One-fifty a month, and we can have a straight
lease—no humbugging about clauses.”
</p>
<p>
“And how many rooms, did you say, dear?”
gasped Mrs. Stewart.
</p>
<p>
“I didn’t say, mother, and I told Poll not to say
more until after you see it in the morning.”
</p>
<p>
“But I like it, and it really does seem as if
Providence sent us through that street,” added
Polly, sighing with content.
</p>
<p>
“Eleanor, did you hear Anne say it had stable-doors?”
now ventured Mrs. Stewart, fearfully.
</p>
<p>
“No! did you, Anne? Why would it have
stable-doors?”
</p>
<p>
“Because in the days of horses and carriages, it
was some rich man’s private stable,” laughed
Anne, enjoying the horror on her mother’s face.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30'></a>30</span>
</p>
<p>
“A stable! Ha, ha, ha—for a Maynard of
Chicago! Oh—ha, ha, ha!” laughed Eleanor,
rocking back and forth.
</p>
<p>
Even Mrs. Stewart had to laugh at the picture
Eleanor’s exclamation suggested—Mrs. Maynard
and Barbara calling upon a member of their family
who was living in an East Side stable!
</p>
<p>
Any doubt of this being just the place they
wanted vanished in the morning when Anne and
Polly proudly escorted Mrs. Stewart and Eleanor
about their future domicile. True, it had all the
ear-marks of a stable from the <em>outside</em>, but once
you were within, there was only an artistic home
to be seen. The ground-floor which had once held
four stalls and a harness-room, with space for
two carriages, was now partitioned off in a manner
that made the most of the space. A large
living-room across the front acted as entrance-hall
and passageway to the rear rooms and second
floor. In the corner of the living-room, where
the small brick chimney had served as smoke-vent
for the stove of former days, there now was a
wide tiled fire-place which would hold great logs.
</p>
<p>
Double glass-paneled doors led from the front
room to the dining-room with its two high-set
square windows opening to the sunlight in the
rear. Also a single door went to the kitchen,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31'></a>31</span>
which also had two high windows like those in
the adjoining room. From the kitchen, a back
door opened upon a tiny grass-platted garden of
about twenty feet square. A fine locust tree grew
in one corner of the plot and gave shade in the
afternoon.
</p>
<p>
Anne explained certain peculiar features regarding
the windows of the back-rooms. “Don’t
you see why they are so high? It is because they
were once the ventilators to the stalls. Each horse
had his own window for air. But I think they now
make the rooms look quaint, don’t you?”
</p>
<p>
The others agreed with her, and Eleanor said:
“If we had a shelf running along under the windows,
it would look better.”
</p>
<p>
“And we can use it for china,” added Polly.
</p>
<p>
Anne now started to go upstairs, followed by
the other three; they all examined the bedrooms
and were delighted with them. There were
two large front and two smaller rear rooms, with
a fine tiled bathroom between the back rooms. Not
one of the rooms was as small as the largest
chambers seen in the modern apartments.
</p>
<p>
“And all for a hundred and fifty a month!” exclaimed
Eleanor, joyously.
</p>
<p>
“I reckon we’d better take it at once, children,”
said Mrs. Stewart, approvingly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32'></a>32</span>
</p>
<p>
“But remember,” said Anne, on the way to the
agent’s office, “we have to make all inside repairs,
or redecorate as we want. There is no steam heat
or hot water supplied, either, like the swell apartment
houses, uptown, offer us.”
</p>
<p>
“I’d rather have it so, Anne dear,” replied Mrs.
Stewart. “I’ve always been used to a coal range
and those fandangled gas ideas worried me, but I
didn’t say anything to you-all. I noticed what a
fine little kitchen stove this one has, so you’ll
always have hot water—never fear. As for heat!
Well, a great open fire-place in the front room
will help heat upstairs, and there is a register in
the bathroom that comes from the kitchen stove-pipe.”
</p>
<p>
“We can use electric or gas radiators, Anne,”
added Eleanor, eagerly, “in very cold weather.”
</p>
<p>
“I never knew what heated bedrooms were like,
in Pebbly Pit, Anne,” Polly said, anxious to have
a word.
</p>
<p>
“Besides we may have a very mild winter,” remarked
Anne.
</p>
<p>
So the lease was signed and the first month’s
rent paid. “We’ll give you any assistance you
may need in getting the place in order, Mrs. Stewart,”
said the agent, as he handed the papers to
his new tenant.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33'></a>33</span>
</p>
<p>
“That will be very nice, and we will take advantage
of your offer, at once. I want the kitchen
range and stove pipe put in perfect working order,
and please see that the radiator in the bathroom
is not obstructed in any way,” said the lady.
</p>
<p>
Anne and the agent exchanged looks and
laughed. “I can see where Mrs. Stewart expects
to enjoy herself this winter. Well, I told my wife
the other day, we were more comfortable when
we had an old-fashioned flat with a kitchen range,
than we now are with all the latest modern improvements,”
returned the agent.
</p>
<p>
“Anne, Polly and I want our rooms repapered
and painted,” whispered Eleanor, tugging at
Anne’s sleeve.
</p>
<p>
“I was about to suggest that you have all the
woodwork given one coat of nice fresh paint, but
the paper now on the walls is very expensive and
artistic, so I wouldn’t be in too great a hurry to
have it done over. The last tenant imported his
own paper at a great expense for that place,”
explained the agent.
</p>
<p>
“I think you are very kind and sensible to advise
us in this way. So we’ll have the men do the
paint but not touch the paper until we have had
time to look it over again,” said Anne.
</p>
<p>
“When can we move in?” questioned Polly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34'></a>34</span>
</p>
<p>
“Any time you like; but I would advise having
the painters out first. I will send two men to begin
work in there to-morrow.”
</p>
<p>
Then the four delighted tenants left the office,
and on the walk back to the corner where they
wished to board the car they eagerly planned how
they would furnish their home.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35'></a>35</span><a name='chIII' id='chIII'></a>CHAPTER III—FURNISHING THE STABLE</h2>
<p>
“Anne, if we hurry and get the furniture, we
can settle our home before school starts,” suggested
Eleanor, eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“If you-all had only let me ship my stuff from
Denver you wouldn’t have to buy a stick!” declared
Mrs. Stewart.
</p>
<p>
They were standing on the corner waiting for
an uptown car but not one was in sight. Anne
showed signs of impatience but exclaimed at her
mother’s remark:
</p>
<p>
“Mother, you know very well what the crating
and freight would have cost, and you sold your
stuff for more than it was worth. I think you are
most fortunate to have that little roll of money
on hand, when you consider the wear and tear your
furniture has had in the last thirty years.”
</p>
<p>
“Anyway, Mrs. Stewart, I don’t want Victorian
period in our house. Polly and I want to furnish
and decorate our own rooms as we like. This is
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36'></a>36</span>
to be our first experiment in real artistic work,”
said Eleanor, comfortingly.
</p>
<p>
Polly nodded her head at these words; but
standing with her back to the curb, her face was
opposite a large show-window in the corner building.
Now, as if by some magnet, her eyes were
attracted to what that window contained.
</p>
<p>
“Why, just see there! Right near our street is
a furniture shop!” With this exclamation, Polly
ran over to inspect the objects displayed in the
window. A carved four-poster, and other rare
antiques, drew the attention of the little group.
</p>
<p>
Polly glanced around to see what furniture shop
it was that was so near their new home.
</p>
<p>
“Why! It’s an auction place. Surely, it cannot
be that such wonderful things are sold in a
junk room,” exclaimed Mrs. Stewart.
</p>
<p>
That made the other three look also, and Eleanor
added: “It doesn’t follow that just because
this is an auction house, that it must be a junk
room.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, I never saw anything but awful junk in
the second-hand place in Oak Creek,” explained
Polly.
</p>
<p>
“Even the Denver dealers sell only junk, Nolla.
But it may be different in New York. Everything
seems to be different,” said Anne.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37'></a>37</span>
</p>
<p>
“Of course it is! Why wouldn’t it be when you
stop to think of it. In the first place, no one in
Oak Creek ever had anything but junk to sell.
And in Denver, where everyone hangs on to every
stick they have, simply because it is so difficult to
get anything worth while, the poor second-hand
dealer starves for want of trade. But here, as
well as in Chicago, folks send stuff to places like
this for sale, when they can’t find a place to move
into. I just bet there will be thousands of families
that will have to sell out this year just because
there are not enough homes for all of them.”
Eleanor’s logic was sound, and Polly ventured a
suggestion.
</p>
<p>
“I’d love to go in there and see what they do
with such pieces. There are lots of well-dressed
people going in—come on.”
</p>
<p>
Nothing loath to see the interior of a New York
second-hand shop, the westerners went to the
front door. There a colored porter stood and
bowed politely.
</p>
<p>
“Sale goin’ on in third room, right, ladies; have
a catalogue?”
</p>
<p>
As the uniformed attendant offered Anne a
pamphlet of about twenty pages, he waved them
inside out of the doorway. Then he repeated his
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38'></a>38</span>
directions to the next couple who followed directly
after Mrs. Stewart’s party.
</p>
<p>
To say the four friends were astonished at the
size and quality of the auction-rooms is speaking
mildly. Not a piece of furniture but looked rare
and expensive. It seemed improbable that it all
was for sale.
</p>
<p>
A second attendant now came up and said:
“Sale now going on in south gallery, ladies.”
</p>
<p>
Then Anne took her courage in her hands. “We
have never visited a sale before, so you will confer
a favor by showing us where to go, or what to do.
We are about to furnish a house.”
</p>
<p>
The man sensed a good customer, and gallantly
showed them through several well-stocked rooms
until they reached the last, where a smiling
smooth-tongued individual sat behind a raised
desk and spoke conversationally to the crowd
which sat in rows before him.
</p>
<p>
“Jake, find me four chairs, in a hurry,” whispered
the man who was conducting Anne’s party.
</p>
<p>
Without confusion and in a moment’s time, Jake
carried over four wonderful Jacobean chairs, two
in each hand, their backs to each other, and
handled as recklessly as if the fine carving was
made of unbreakable metal.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39'></a>39</span>
</p>
<p>
“Now, ladies, enjoy yourselves,” the smiling attendant
said; then he stopped for a moment at the
desk to say a word to the auctioneer who continued
his selling as if no new victims had been introduced.
</p>
<p>
One marvelous article after another was
brought forth and placed for exhibition upon the
Persian rug that covered the platform in front of
the audience. And one after another, the objects
of art and beauty were sold to different buyers at
a preposterously low figure.
</p>
<p>
But the wily auctioneer took notice that not a
member of the newly arrived party was bidding
on anything. He decided that this must not be, so
he stood up to address the assembly.
</p>
<p>
“Friends, I know that you are here to buy and
not to waste your time in mere curiosity. If there
is any particular article you need, or have seen on
the premises, speak out and I will oblige you by
introducing it in this sale.”
</p>
<p>
He glanced over the crowd and finally allowed
his gaze to rest upon the four who sat in the front
row. They all felt guilty of using his time and
room when they had no idea of buying any particular
thing. Mrs. Stewart was about to whisper
to Anne that they had better go when Eleanor
spoke up fearlessly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40'></a>40</span>
</p>
<p>
“I saw a four-poster in the show-window before
I came in. Is it for sale?”
</p>
<p>
Her three companions felt the shock that is experienced
when one does an unusual or unexpected
thing. But they each felt thrilled, too, at the courage
of that one.
</p>
<p>
“I regret exceedingly, my dear young lady, that
that particular set of antique mahogany cannot be
sold until day after to-morrow. In fact, only the
contents of <em>this</em> vast room is for sale to-day. We
take them in turn, you see. To-morrow the adjoining
room goes, and the day following that
everything is sold and cleared out of the third
room—where the bed is.”
</p>
<p>
“But we have a four-poster in this sale, Mr.
Winters,” quickly said one of the floor-men.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, indeed! Perhaps the young lady will like
it as well as the other one. Bring it forward,
Joe.”
</p>
<p>
Without the slightest delay, the floor-men then
pulled and pushed a very elaborately carved four-posted
bed out upon the dais. It was similar to
the one in the window but it was smaller, this one
being four feet wide while the one on exhibition
for Friday’s sale was full sized.
</p>
<p>
The auctioneer spoke of all the points about this
particular piece of furniture, and then began to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41'></a>41</span>
offer it for sale. The four visitors in the front
row sat as if hypnotized at his manner.
</p>
<p>
“What, no one here to appreciate this marvelous
work of other days, now to be sold for three
hundred dollars?”
</p>
<p>
Not a sound encouraged him, so he sighed and
said: “Well, is there anyone who will give two
hundred for it?”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor’s heart thumped. She was willing to
give it but she found her tongue cleave to the roof
of her mouth at the very idea of securing the bed
at such a price.
</p>
<p>
“Too bad! Then I shall have to ask if anyone
will pay me one hundred dollars? Is this bed not
worth that to you, young lady—or perhaps you
need a full-sized bed?” The auctioneer looked at
Eleanor but failed to see the dazzling glint that
shot into her eyes when he offered the bed for one
hundred. He really had no hope of starting it at
that figure so he over-did it that time.
</p>
<p>
“All right, friends, I am perfectly willing to
have you set your own price on this magnificent
piece of carving that is no less than a hundred and
fifty years old. Now what is your pleasure?
Fifty, forty, thirty—what? did I hear a bargain-hunter
say twenty-five? Oh, impossible?”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor almost fainted at such a dreadful sacrifice,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42'></a>42</span>
and would have stood up to offer him the
hundred, had not a man in the rear called out
“Fifty.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah, that is better—thank you. Now, fifty,
fifty, fifty—who says seventy-five? I want seventy-five—fifty,
fifty, fifty, fif—fif-tee, tee, t-e-e—what,
no one here willing to pay more than fifty dollars
for this bee-u—utiful bit of antique mahogany?
Fif-fif-fif—Ah!”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor swallowed hard, half-stood up, and the
auctioneer caught her eye at last. He smiled, acknowledged
her expression, and now called:
</p>
<p>
“Seventy-five! I now have seventy-five, seven,
seven, sev-sev-seventy—seventy-fi-ifvvve! I have
seventy-five dollars for this wonderful mahogany
bed that is really worth seven hundred dollars in
any store to-day. And I only have seventy-five
dollars bid. Seven-tee——”
</p>
<p>
Again Eleanor half-stood up and this time she
managed to say “One hundred, please!”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you, young lady—you certainly understand
fine furniture. I am now offered one hundred
dollars by one who knows the value of this
bed—one hundred, one hundred—hundred—one,
h-u-ndred dollars offered—who will give a hundred
and ten—only ten more gets it?”
</p>
<p>
Polly was so amazed when Eleanor said “One
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43'></a>43</span>
hundred dollars” that she giggled hysterically; but
not wishing to have her friend brag how “she bid
at this auction and her friends were too shy,” Polly
looked anxiously at the auctioneer. He saw that
look and understood.
</p>
<p>
“Don’t hesitate, young lady. You know ‘he who
hesitates is lost’—in this case, loses a great bargain.
If you wish to bid, never fear competing
with a friend. In this business there are no friends—all
men are strangers. Shall I say one hundred
and ten for you?”
</p>
<p>
Polly nodded eagerly and smiled broadly at
Eleanor. The two girls were so delighted with
themselves at daring to speak out so bravely in a
city like <em>New York</em> that they failed to realize the
auctioneer had knocked down the bed to Polly.
</p>
<p>
“This young lady in front. I <em>must</em> say she appreciates
fine furniture!” declared the suave auctioneer
to everyone in general.
</p>
<p>
“W-h-y, Pol—le-ee! Is that your bed?” gasped
Mrs. Stewart.
</p>
<p>
“I’m sure I don’t know. Is it, Nolla?” laughed
Polly.
</p>
<p>
Just then a brusque voice said: “Name and
address please—and twenty-five per cent deposit
money.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44'></a>44</span>
The girls looked up in bewilderment. Who was
the man?
</p>
<p>
He seemed to read their thoughts, for he
smiled. “I am the cashier. Everyone has to pay
down a cash deposit on their bids. Everything
you buy has to be removed by Saturday, or we are
not responsible for it after that.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh!” Polly and Eleanor looked at each other.
They were trying to figure out how much money
he wanted.
</p>
<p>
“Here—I’ll pay the deposit. About thirty
dollars, isn’t it?” said Anne, in a business-like
tone.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, thank you. Now name and address,
please?”
</p>
<p>
“What’s the number of our stable, Anne?”
laughed Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
When Anne gave the address the cashier looked
surprised. “Oh, have you rented the Studio down
the street?”
</p>
<p>
The girls bowed wonderingly, and he added:
“The artist who lived there for a number of years,
used to drop in here every week just for the entertainment
of picking up curios. In fact, I saw him
here a few minutes ago. He told me he would
give fifty percent advance to the tenant who leased
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45'></a>45</span>
that place. Here’s a chance for you to make
money if you want to give up the Studio.”
</p>
<p>
“We want a home more than money, mister!”
declared Polly.
</p>
<p>
“You’ve said it, Poll! If we give up this studio
we may have to go back and live in our gold mine,
because New York hasn’t any homes left, this
year,” laughed Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
The cashier had not missed the mention of “our
gold mine” and determined to do his utmost to
please these ladies. Hence he whispered: “I’ll
look after everything you buy here, and don’t
worry about moving it away on Saturday. Next
week will do, if you are not ready to get things
out this week.”
</p>
<p>
“Polly, Polly! There goes a high-boy that
matches the bed you got!” cried Eleanor, at this
moment.
</p>
<p>
“They are pieces of the same set. Strange to
say, they came from the very place you rented.
The artist has to sell out because he cannot find an
apartment, and there is no storage room for his
furniture,” explained the cashier.
</p>
<p>
So Polly secured the high-boy for sixty dollars
and felt very proud of her purchases. Eleanor
bought a pair of brass fire-dogs and irons, and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46'></a>46</span>
Anne bid on a large etching. When it was knocked
down to her, she turned to her mother and said:
“I really do not want it. What under the sun did
I get it for?”
</p>
<p>
And Mrs. Stewart laughed. “It’s always the
way at these vendues. One gets all kinds of things
one never needs.”
</p>
<p>
“Then let’s get out. Girls, I’m going now,”
whispered Anne, rising to leave.
</p>
<p>
The cashier hurried over when he saw the four
new customers about to go, and said, “The artist
would like very much to meet his successors to the
Studio.”
</p>
<p>
At the same moment, a grey-haired gentleman
bowed and smiled, and the group waited expectantly.
Anne and Polly smiled also.
</p>
<p>
“You are the kind friend who advised us, yesterday,
when we had to leave the car,” Anne said,
pleasantly.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, but I never dreamed I was directing you
right to my front door,” rejoined the artist.
</p>
<p>
“Well, Mr. Fabian, as long as you’ve met
before, I’ll go about my business,” and the cashier
hurried away, leaving the five people in the adjoining
room.
</p>
<p>
Anne proceeded to introduce her friends and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47'></a>47</span>
then added: “It was providential that we went
through that street. Now we have a home to our
liking.”
</p>
<p>
“I am delighted that my successors will appreciate
the place, but I am still seeking for quarters.
Had I choked my anger and swallowed my pride,
when the owner refused to keep his word about
the stable-doors, I would still be enjoying my cozy
Studio.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian then told the ladies how he had
taken the stable in its raw state and turned it into
the lovely dwelling it now was. He had paid for
all the hardwood floors, for the partitions on the
ground-floor, and for the kitchen plumbing.
</p>
<p>
“Why, it must have cost you a small fortune,”
ventured Anne. “And now it seems too bad that
you can’t enjoy it.”
</p>
<p>
“But I did enjoy it, my dear young lady—for
five years. And I only paid sixty dollars a month,
during that time, too. When the owner raised
me, this year, to ninety I rebelled, because I had
spent so much money on beautifying the rooms. I
thought he would really relent and say I could
have it for about seventy-five a month. I was mistaken.”
</p>
<p>
“We’re paying a hundred and fifty a month and
make all repairs, ourselves,” Anne ventured.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48'></a>48</span>
</p>
<p>
“He took advantage of the unusual conditions.
But you have a better bargain, even so, than if you
had rented a seven-room apartment, uptown, for
two or three thousand a year.”
</p>
<p>
By this time they were standing on the corner
once more, and Mr. Fabian seemed ready to leave
them. Then Polly remembered that the cashier
had said the bed and high-boy she just bought had
come from the Studio.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Mr. Fabian, excuse me for speaking of it,
but did you really own the four-poster I got at the
sale just now?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, my dear. It was in the room my little
daughter occupied when she was home. She is
now in Paris taking an art course.” The girls
were deeply interested in this intimate information.
“That box-spring with the mattress on the bed was
made to order of the best material I could buy.
You’ll find the silk-floss in that mattress is so soft
you’ll never care to get up, once you rest upon it.”
</p>
<p>
“But I didn’t know the spring and mattress went
with the bed,” Polly said, amazed.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, yes. That is the way they generally sell
other folks’ goods. But I wish to say, that Nancy
only used the bed a few weeks, as she had a splendid
opportunity to enter a class in a friend’s school
in Paris, so we started her across without delay.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49'></a>49</span>
My wife went, too, to look after her; that is one
reason I refused to pay the increased rent; I
thought it was too much for one lone man to pay.”
</p>
<p>
“It almost makes me feel as if we ought to take
you in to live with us,” said Mrs. Stewart, sympathetically.
“If there only was one extra bedroom,
now, we could make you a member of our family
just as well as not.”
</p>
<p>
“But we haven’t that extra room!” laughed
Anne, wondering what this stranger would think
of her mother’s free western hospitality.
</p>
<p>
What he thought was soon expressed. “I certainly
appreciate such unusual kindness and I see
it is genuine. So I will dare to do this: I shall
love to drop in, now and then, and see how you
all are doing. Perhaps I can be of some assistance
to you, in various ways.”
</p>
<p>
“I know you can!” declared Eleanor, eagerly.
“Polly and I are taking up art and interior decorating
and we need lots of ideas from grown-ups
who have had experience. You can advise us that
way.”
</p>
<p>
“Begin your regular home visits a week from
Sunday, Mr. Fabian. We will be settled then and
ready to welcome you to our house,” added Anne.
</p>
<p>
Then they parted and Mr. Fabian went downtown,
while the four companions walked northwards to the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50'></a>50</span>
hotel. As they walked, Anne said:
“It certainly was queer how that gentleman sent
us past his own home and we saw it. Now, he
turns out to be just the kind of a friend Polly and
Eleanor will need to advise them about art
school.”
</p>
<p>
“Anne, what shall we do with the rest of the
afternoon? We still have two hours before dinner-time,”
said Eleanor, glancing at her wristwatch.
</p>
<p>
“We can go over to the nearest shop and get
Polly an everyday hat. I can’t bear to see this
lovely one hacked out at auction rooms. She
needs complete outfits of underwear, too, but we
may be too late at the shops, for that.”
</p>
<p>
“Anne, I saw in the paper this morning, when
you were looking for apartments, that a fine Fifth
avenue shop is having a sale of early fall models.
Let’s go up and get Polly’s hat there,” advised
Eleanor, eagerly.
</p>
<p>
Anne laughed. “You are willing to get one for
yourself, too, eh?”
</p>
<p>
So both girls were supplied with chic hats before
they returned to the hotel. There they found an
invitation from the Latimers to come, informally,
and dine with them that night. Dr. and Mrs.
Evans would try to come in later.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51'></a>51</span>
</p>
<p>
“It’s now five-thirty. Can we get dressed and
make it, in time?” asked Eleanor, anxiously.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, yes; we haven’t far to go, you know. A
taxi will take us there in ten minutes,” replied
Anne.
</p>
<p>
All was hurry and bustle, then, and when the
two girls emerged from their rooms dressed in
their new gowns, Anne felt that they did her credit.
She could not but remark at the great improvement
that clothes, well-fitting and of fine material,
made in Polly’s appearance. Now the girl looked
positively beautiful.
</p>
<p>
A pleasant evening ensued, Jim and Ken insisting
upon the right to escort the ladies home after
everyone had said good-night.
</p>
<p>
“You know, girls, Ken and I are going to Yale
next week?” said Jim, as they started down Broadway.
</p>
<p>
“So your father said, to-night. We will miss
you, Jim,” returned Anne.
</p>
<p>
“But we’ll be home every chance we get—Thanksgiving,
Christmas and other times,” Kenneth
said, hopefully.
</p>
<p>
“Nolla and I will be awfully busy in school, and
in trying to get started in the art classes,” added
Polly.
</p>
<p>
“I hope you have the stable settled before we
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52'></a>52</span>
leave the city. We want to give you-all a house-warming,”
said Kenneth.
</p>
<p>
“That will be great! Let’s have it, anyway,
even if everything is not in apple-pie order in the
house,” exclaimed Polly.
</p>
<p>
So before they parted, that night, it was all arranged
that the house-warming should take place
the next Tuesday evening. The boys were leaving
for college on Thursday, and the last few days
before starting in the new school, would be busy
ones for the girls.
</p>
<p>
“All right, we’ll tell the folks the fun is on for
next Tuesday, then,” said Jim, as they shook
hands.
</p>
<p>
“And it must be a regular surprise, you know—we
bring our own refreshments and everything,”
laughed Kenneth.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, no! That is the least we can do in return
for all you folks have done for us. We will furnish
your refreshments!” declared Eleanor, positively.
</p>
<p>
“As long as you furnish plenty, all right. But
remember, girls, that Ken and I still have our
Rocky Mountain appetites!”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53'></a>53</span><a name='chIV' id='chIV'></a>CHAPTER IV—BARGAINS, BARGAINS EVERYWHERE!</h2>
<p>
With the worry of house-hunting gone, the
young friends felt at liberty to be deliberate while
apportioning their time. Anne took Polly and
Eleanor to the West End School, the morning following
their meeting with Mr. Fabian, and introduced
them to the proprietress as the two young
ladies she had written about.
</p>
<p>
Polly thought the elegant mansion that looked
more like a prince’s residence than a school, would
keep her from concentrating upon her lessons.
While Anne and the principal of the select school
talked business, Polly glanced about the reception
room.
</p>
<p>
The rugs were beautiful, most of them having
the faded soft colors of the antique Persian and
Turkish. But the furniture was too gorgeous in
upholstering for the type of room. Then there
were heavy boxed oil paintings in rich gilt frames,
hanging on the walls; and teakwood pedestals
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54'></a>54</span>
holding statuettes and busts; and onyx stands with
palms. The mantel was loaded with bric-a-brac
of all sorts. Many other minor items showed bad
taste in whoever furnished the room.
</p>
<p>
Polly felt all this, but could not explain just
why she resented such a conglomeration of color
and furnishings. But Eleanor, having had the results
of a decorator’s judgment displayed in her
home, in Chicago, felt inclined to smile at what
she saw about her. It was sure evidence of Polly’s
improvement in artistic interiors since the day she
thought the green window-shades quite the thing,
to this time when the indiscriminate mixing of
colors offended her eyes.
</p>
<p>
“I really am relieved to hear that you will not
be resident here, Miss Stewart, as I need your
room for two boarders. I had planned to enlarge
the dormitory this year, but everything costs so
much that I postponed it. Now this extra room
will come in very nicely for me,” Mrs. Wellington
was saying when Polly and Eleanor had finished
a survey of the room, and rejoined Anne.
</p>
<p>
“Girls, Mrs. Wellington says we may have a
look at the class-rooms. Would you like to go
with me?” said Anne.
</p>
<p>
Without demur they followed the lady of the
house. They passed through the formal parlor
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55'></a>55</span>
where guests of distinction were entertained. Here
the two girls also saw the lack of taste in furnishing.
Gilded furniture with delicate satin upholstery,
fought with wallpaper of heavy Spanish-leather
design. Curtains and portières were of
velour, heavily edged with fringe. Valances of
velour were over the windows, and on the mantel.
Instead of having a delicate French carpet on the
floor, there were thick napped dark-toned Beloochistan
rugs.
</p>
<p>
The long library opened out from the parlor,
and here there was an atmosphere of rest, because
the entire wall spaces were lined with dark cabinets
whose shelves were well filled with volumes
in bindings made to harmonize with the rich paper
that showed above the book-cases. The window-seats
were built in and upholstered in tapestry to
match the paper. The tables and leather armchairs
were not so glaringly out of keeping with
the room as the furniture in the first two rooms
had been.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Wellington waved her hand carelessly at
this room: “When I bought this house, all the
books went with it, just as you see them now. The
window-seats are still covered as they were, but
I hope soon to spend some money in making this
library more cheerful for the girls. I like bright
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56'></a>56</span>
colors, but that dun wall paper and that dull tapestry
on the window cushions gives me the blues. If
the books had not been such a bargain—the executor
of the estate was most anxious to dispose of
them—I never would have taken them. Their
dull green morocco bindings make the room seem
heavy, don’t you think?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, no! I was just thinking how lovely the
glint of the gold lettering on each dark book
makes the room seem. If only there was a dark
polished floor to reflect the chair and table legs,
the room would be wonderful! But this large
carpet spoils that effect!” Nolla exclaimed impetuously.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Wellington straightened her spine and
looked in hurt amazement at this inexperienced
miss who babbled like an expert decorator. No
one had ever criticised that carpet rug before!
</p>
<p>
Anne saw the look and comprehended at once,
so she dropped oil on the troubled waters. “Oh,
Nolla! you are so carried away with your hobby
of studying decorating that you needs must practise
it and criticise everywhere. Now, I’m sure,
Mrs. Wellington never would have dreamed of
your ambition had you not showed it so plainly in
your words just now.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor understood Anne’s motive in speaking
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57'></a>57</span>
thus, and smiled benignly. Polly was still trying
to grasp the handle to Anne’s remark when the
lady of the house led them forth again.
</p>
<p>
“Here are a number of smaller rooms where
girls may sit and read or study in the evening.
And now we will go up to the class rooms.”
</p>
<p>
If Eleanor and Polly had been able to find flaws
with the lack of taste shown in the furnishings of
the first-floor, they could not detect the slightest
item missing in the equipment and furnishing of
the different school rooms. Every known modern
device and object for the comfort, health and help
of scholars, were in evidence. Anne smiled with
pleasure as she looked around.
</p>
<p>
“It will be a delight to teach in such a room as
this, Mrs. Wellington; and I’m sure the scholars
appreciate all you do for them.”
</p>
<p>
“No, that is the strange part of it, Miss Stewart.
The girls who come here seldom think of all
I do for them in providing these rooms. They
take it as a matter of course that I should spend
so much money in keeping everything as I do,
while my competitors ask higher rates and spend
less;” the lady looked troubled over it.
</p>
<p>
“Now I have a friend down on Seventy-second
street, who has conducted a most exclusive school
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58'></a>58</span>
for years; but she will not spend a cent in these
ideal accommodations yet she gets higher prices
than I do. And her waiting list of well-known
names is endless. I only have a list of about a
dozen applicants and they are not daughters of
millionaires, either.”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps,” Anne remarked kindly, “the girls
<em>you</em> graduate make something of themselves in
life, whereas those other society girls merely skim
over lessons and never know how to spell their
own names.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, that is true; I secure the very best teachers
and try to instill knowledge wisely. And I
am sure, my girls, upon leaving here, can compete
with anyone.”
</p>
<p>
“I should say that was a great comfort. To
look back some day and be able to say: ‘I taught
that girl how to combat ignorance.’ And the girls
who sincerely admit what you have done, will rise
up and call you blessed—for giving them these expensive
modern helps to acquire wisdom.”
</p>
<p>
Madam seemed pleased with this point of view,
and said: “You will stop and have luncheon with
me, won’t you, dears?”
</p>
<p>
“We really cannot, Mrs. Wellington. You see
we have to furnish the home that we just leased,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59'></a>59</span>
yesterday. We are most anxious to have everything
in order before starting with our school work
on the first,” Anne explained, politely.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, of course, that is wise. Then I will look
for you Monday morning—the first of October.
If there is anything you wish to know, you can call
me up any time during the mornings. And if you
are in this neighborhood before the first, do come
in and have tea.”
</p>
<p>
After the girls had gone, Madam smiled and
thought to herself: “I certainly made no mistake
in engaging <em>that</em> young teacher. She seems to be
the best one I have ever interviewed. And the
girls will take to her, I’m sure.”
</p>
<p>
Anne led the way to a Broadway trolley, and
soon they were at the hotel. Mrs. Stewart was
impatiently awaiting them, so they had an early
luncheon and then hurried downtown to the “Art
Galleries” on Fourth avenue.
</p>
<p>
The sale had just opened, and they were able to
secure front chairs. A list had been made of
pieces of furniture they really needed to start
house-keeping with, and now they hoped to be
able to find just the things they had pictured for
the Studio.
</p>
<p>
A solid mahogany gate-leg table was knocked
down to Anne for fourteen dollars and a half.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60'></a>60</span>
Then a wing-chair with quaint lines, upholstered
in orchid blue velour, was sold to Eleanor for
nineteen dollars.
</p>
<p>
“Dear me, that was a lovely chair, Nolla. I
wish I had one like it,” sighed Polly.
</p>
<p>
“Isn’t my table a dear!” whispered Anne,
eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“But it has as many legs as a centipede,” replied
Polly.
</p>
<p>
The others laughed gaily at her criticism but at
that moment, a comfortable Turkish arm-chair
was placed upon the dais. It was upholstered in
a rich tapestry, and looked oh! so luxurious.
</p>
<p>
Polly watched the bidders anxiously. She had
a sudden desire for that chair, but she couldn’t
manage to get in at the bidding, at all. But when
she saw a woman opposite, hold up a hand above
her head, and so learned that that was one way
to catch the auctioneer’s attention, she, too, followed
suit.
</p>
<p>
She instantly held up her hand, and just saved
the chair from being sold to a man at the back.
So it was knocked down to her at seventeen-fifty.
</p>
<p>
“There! That is Mrs. Stewart’s chair. I saw
the look in her eye when it was placed upon the
dais; and I know just how she will enjoy it when
she has done preparing our dinners. That chair,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61'></a>61</span>
out before the open fire-place giving rest to a tired
house-keeper, will make one feel like new!” Polly
said.
</p>
<p>
“But, Polly, child! you must not spend your
money buying <em>me</em> such things!” exclaimed Mrs.
Stewart.
</p>
<p>
“I will if I want to! This is the first stick
you’ve got for your room. And without you,
I’d like to know what kind of a home we’d
have. So don’t you say another word if I want
to buy other things for you.”
</p>
<p>
Anne objected. “Maybe this one chair is all
right, Polly, but no more, please.”
</p>
<p>
“Anne, just see all the money we’re saving on
buying our furniture, this way. Why can’t I use
the surplus as I want to? I say I <em>will</em>—if I see
anything I want very much to give you or your
mother.”
</p>
<p>
Anne knew when Polly was determined to have
her way, and believed the best plan now would be
to buy what was needed for herself and her
mother, so as to forestall Polly or Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
So that afternoon Anne got two single brass
beds with brand new springs and mattresses. The
auctioneer explained that the bedding was sent in
by the Manhattan Factory, because of an order
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62'></a>62</span>
that had been cancelled before delivery of goods.
So Anne secured the bedding at half price.
</p>
<p>
Neither of the girls suspected Anne of any
secret plot when she bought other articles at that
sale for the two bedrooms she needed to furnish;
but when Eleanor eagerly bid on a Priscilla work-table
of mahogany and got it for Mrs. Stewart,
Anne felt annoyed.
</p>
<p>
“My goodness, Anne, it was only five-fifty.
Who ever saw a work-table as cheap as that,
before? I know your mother will love to darn
stockings for us all, now—with a nice place in
which to keep her wools,” argued Eleanor, laughingly.
</p>
<p>
“Maybe mother would rather not darn stockings
but let you keep the table, yourself,” suggested
Anne.
</p>
<p>
Before they left the Art Gallery that day, they
found they had really bought enough articles to
start in with if they liked. They could add rugs,
bric-a-brac, and different luxurious chairs, at any
time.
</p>
<p>
“But we need dishes and utensils, girls,” said
Mrs. Stewart.
</p>
<p>
“We’ll get them in a department store, and have
them delivered at once,” replied Anne.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63'></a>63</span>
</p>
<p>
“Let’s run over and see if the painters have
done anything,” suggested Polly.
</p>
<p>
“Might as well, Anne—we are right here, you
see,” added Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
So they turned the corner and walked down the
street to reach the Studio in time to see the painters
finish the work on the ground floor.
</p>
<p>
“How nice and fresh it looks. But the wallpaper
looks dusty,” said Mrs. Stewart.
</p>
<p>
“It is dusty, madam. I was just sayin’ to my
friend here you ought to have someone clean it all
off with bread crumbs. It is a swell paper if it is
clean,” remarked the painter.
</p>
<p>
“Bread-crumbs?” ejaculated Anne.
</p>
<p>
“Yes’m. Best thing known to clean fine paper.
I’ll get a man to do it if you say so. He knows
his job.”
</p>
<p>
“I wish you would. And ask him to supply the
bread, too, as we are stopping at a hotel where it
is hard to get such things.”
</p>
<p>
“An’ I was goin’ to mention—the porcelain tubs
and basins oughta be cleaned fer you’se. When
we finish painting I will scour and polish ’em, if
you say so.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, please do! And the floors ought to be
polished, too.”
</p>
<p>
“We’ll take care of all that, if you just tell us
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64'></a>64</span>
to go ahead and clean up as we see fit,” said the
painter.
</p>
<p>
“All right; but don’t make us wait too long
before we can move in. We are going to have a
house-warming, here, next week,” explained Eleanor,
anxiously.
</p>
<p>
“I’ve got an extra man comin’ on to-morrow,
and we’ll be out of here by Saturday. Especially
if we work Sat’aday afternoon—but that means
double pay, you know.”
</p>
<p>
“Never mind that; finish the job as soon as possible,
for we will save that much extra money in
hotel bills,” said Anne.
</p>
<p>
“All right! We’ll turn it over for you Sat’aday
night!”
</p>
<p>
Everything seemed to be going so well, not only
with their Studio-home, but with furnishings and
decorators, that the girls felt elated.
</p>
<p>
The next day they again met Mr. Fabian at the
Art Galleries, and he proved a very welcome member
to their party, as he knew all about rugs, porcelains,
and antiques. Having shown them and
explained all about the few rare pieces still for sale
in the auction rooms, he said:
</p>
<p>
“Some day you must go with me to some of the
other places. There are dozens of these shops in
New York, and each one seems to incline to some
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65'></a>65</span>
particular line of furnishing. Then, too, one can
see more wonderful antiques in these shabby little
shops along the avenue, than one would believe
possible.
</p>
<p>
“I often pick up rare things in these places.
They are run, mostly, by Hebrews who merely
know when an object is antique, or in demand. But
they seldom can tell you the period or name of
many of their most valuable items. It was in this
way that a friend of mine once discovered a
treasure.
</p>
<p>
“His wife wanted a necklace for Christmas—something
odd and different than any that her
friends had. So he came to me and said: ‘Fabian,
I can’t afford Tiffany prices, but I wish I could
find something unusual. I want to please my wife,
because she has been such a good sport during
the time I was hanging over the edge of bankruptcy.
Now what would you suggest?’
</p>
<p>
“I offered to go with him. So we sauntered out
of the Studio and walked over here, to Fourth
avenue. We stopped in every little collector’s shop
along the street, but could not find just what appealed
to him. Then we entered that shop across
the street—the one near the corner.
</p>
<p>
“I knew the old Hebrew well, having often
looked over his trays filled with every old thing
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66'></a>66</span>
conceivable. So I said upon entering: ‘Got any
odd kind of necklace or chain, Moses? Something
to go around a lady’s neck, you know?’ I
had to demonstrate my words as I spoke.
</p>
<p>
“‘Ya, ya! Shure, I got a chain. I show him
you?’
</p>
<p>
“It was a long antique-silver chain, the great
flat links being beautifully filigreed. But it was not
what my friend wanted, so I bought it for Nancy.
Then the shop-keeper looked wistful.
</p>
<p>
“‘Ain’t I got it what you like? Tell me what
for you want him?’
</p>
<p>
“My friend replied: ‘For my wife. She goes
to balls and like pearls, or other stones, in a necklace.’
</p>
<p>
“‘Ah, ha! I got yust what you like. A pearl
necklace vot come in las’ veek wid a lot of odder
fine tings.’ Then the old man rooted around under
the counter until he found the tray he wanted. It
was coated with dust from the floor, but he blew
this off and carelessly placed the heaped-up tray
before us.
</p>
<p>
“Such a tangle of all kinds of jewelry I never
<em>did</em> see! Finally I got the string of pearls free
from the snarls of ordinary glass beads and other
trash, and handed it over to my friend. He curled
a lip in scorn at the soiled trinket.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67'></a>67</span>
</p>
<p>
“‘Avery, drive a bargain with him for this. I
honestly think those pearls are quite good. Let
me rub one up on my sleeve, while you draw the
fellow’s attention from what I am doing,’ I
whispered.
</p>
<p>
“While Avery tried to bargain, I cleaned up one
of the gems and felt sure they were unusually good
even for artificial pearls.
</p>
<p>
“We actually bought the string for twelve dollars,
but my friend feared lest he had been taken
in. So I smiled and said: ‘Leave them with me
and I’ll see that they are polished up like new by
to-morrow night. I’ll take them to an old jeweler
down the street and have them washed and
the gold links cleaned. Your wife won’t know but
that they came from Tiffany’s.
</p>
<p>
“Avery laughed and left them with me. So I
hurried down to Union Square and showed them
to the old jeweler I knew, there.
</p>
<p>
“He puckered his brow at first, then ran for his
magnifying glasses. After an unusually keen inspection
he called to his associate. Both of them
then examined the string most carefully, and the
old man finally looked up.
</p>
<p>
“‘If I didn’t know you to be an honest man I
should say: “Where did you steal them?”—but I
will ask: “How came you by these?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68'></a>68</span>
</p>
<p>
“I was astonished, as you may know, but I tried
to appear wise, so I laughingly replied: ‘They are
not mine, my dear, sir. I only wish they were! I
just got them from a friend to have someone, who
is responsible, clean them nicely. I must hand
them back as soon as you have finished.’
</p>
<p>
“‘Mr. Fabian, I can’t undertake such a job. I
have no bonded man to do such work and I dare
not send them out. They may be substituted, you
know.’
</p>
<p>
“Then I couldn’t help saying: ‘My good man!
You don’t value them so highly as that, do you?
Why, I carried them downtown in my pocket!’
</p>
<p>
“‘Ha, ha!’ he laughed, ‘I never saw a better
matched string of perfect pearls in my life and I
am nigh onto sixty. If I had to handle that necklace,
I should instantly insure it with a broker for
a hundred thousand dollars.’
</p>
<p>
“Fancy, my friends, how I felt! My knees gave
way and I had to sit down. I loosened my collar
which seemed suddenly to grow too tight, but I
couldn’t say a word.”
</p>
<p>
Polly and Eleanor stood listening with eyes
bulging and mouths half-open. Anne and her
mother were also deeply interested.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian smiled to himself before he continued
his tale, “Well, I took the pearls and hailed
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69'></a>69</span>
a taxi. I was taken to Tiffany’s, and asked for the
manager, at once. Of course they wanted to
know why I wished to see him, and I said, courageously:
‘To turn over a valuable pearl necklace
and insure it for a hundred thousand.’
</p>
<p>
“That brought the manager running. We went
to a small private room and I placed the string of
pearls before him. He took it carefully, examined
it casually, then more minutely. He seemed
perturbed and got up. ‘Don’t leave this room and
do not allow anyone to come in and see it. I’ll be
back in a moment with our expert.’
</p>
<p>
“I felt sure, then, that Avery had actually found
a <em>real</em> bargain. But I never dreamed of getting
anything out of it for myself. The manager returned
with, not only the gem expert, but also with
the president of the company. He closed the door
and locked it.
</p>
<p>
“The gem expert used all sorts of tests on the
pearls and then said in a trembling tone: ‘M’sieur,
I see like I nevair saw in my life! A string of
perfect match pearls, each one well worth a fortune.
But I see more, M’sieu! I will bring my
acid to clean the engraved clasp set with diamonds.
Maybe we find interesting fack.’
</p>
<p>
“Everyone felt nervous during the intermission
granted us, but we said not a word to each other.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70'></a>70</span>
Then the Frenchman returned. He was so careful,
almost reverent, I should say, in touching and
cleaning the clasp, that I laughed to myself at the
memory of Old Izaacs shelving the pearls with a
heap of junk, on a tray that was shoved on the
floor under a counter.
</p>
<p>
“After many minutes of impatient waiting on
our side, and as long in a most delicate cleansing
process of the pearls on the part of the expert, he
said: ‘Ah! Now vee zee.’
</p>
<p>
“He adjusted his eyeglass and studied the lettering
on the clasp. Then he jerked forward and
peered breathlessly at it again. Suddenly he
dropped the necklace upon the pad and leaned back
in the chair. ‘Mon Dieu!’ was all he could gasp.
</p>
<p>
“The president then caught up the pearls and
adjusted the glass and studied the clasp. He also
gasped and turned pale. The manager took the
string from his superior and eagerly read the lettering
aloud, ‘To my queen from Bonaparte.’ And
then followed the date and year in tiny figures.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian smiled as he saw the impression his
story had made, and waited to be asked questions
concerning the pearls.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, do finish the story!” cried Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Were they really that famous pearl necklace?”
asked Anne.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71'></a>71</span>
</p>
<p>
But Polly was too amazed to ask anything.
</p>
<p>
“It was the famous necklace of purest pearls
that had been lost for the past sixty years. It was
worth about two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars, at the time it disappeared. To-day it
would be worth much more. But it belonged to
the French Museum, and a reward of two hundred
thousand francs had been offered for trace
of it, or its return. So long ago had that reward
been recorded in every civilized land, that the present
generation had never heard of it—except in
history.
</p>
<p>
“Well, I took a receipt from Tiffany for its
safe-keeping, and they assured me that they would
communicate with the French Ambassador, without
delay. Meanwhile I was to communicate with
my friend Avery. Naturally I withheld all information
as to the manner in which the necklace had
been discovered.
</p>
<p>
“I went to Avery’s office, immediately, and
acted very sorry as I said: ‘Avery, if I were to
tell you that I lost that necklace, what would you
do to me?’
</p>
<p>
“He only laughed and said: ‘I’d make you buy
my wife one as good, or one she <em>might</em> prefer to
that greasy one!’
</p>
<p>
“Then I said: ‘Avery, I never had, nor do I
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72'></a>72</span>
expect to have as much money as that necklace is
worth! Man alive, it is now in Tiffany’s safe,
insured for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,
against fire or theft!’
</p>
<p>
“I thought Avery would faint, but when he had
managed to collect his wits, he whispered hoarsely,
‘I don’t understand—were they <em>genuine</em> pearls?’
</p>
<p>
“So I told him the story and we both rushed
away to hire a taxi and then we drove madly to
Tiffany’s, again. I introduced Avery as the owner
of the pearls, and he was treated to a sight of his
little twelve-dollar bargain.
</p>
<p>
“Well, the upshot of it was, Avery received a
‘present’ of a hundred thousand dollars from the
French Government, and in return he signed a release
for himself, his wife, his heirs, friends, acquaintances,
and, in fact, every American citizen
in the census. He was told that he would be held
responsible, thereafter, for all claims or lawsuits
instituted against France to recover the necklace.
And he accepted the burden, considering he had
such a price paid for the job.
</p>
<p>
“One day Izaacs got a present through the mail,
of a draft for a thousand dollars and to this day
he doesn’t know who the signer ‘William Avery,’
can be.
</p>
<p>
“My old jeweler on Union Square got another
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73'></a>73</span>
thousand, and I—well, I refused everything, and
Avery called me a numb-skull and an easy mark!
So he invested half of all he received in my wife
and Nancy’s name, and that is how they went to
Europe.” Mr. Fabian smiled reminiscently at the
end of the story.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74'></a>74</span><a name='chV' id='chV'></a>CHAPTER V—FIRST DAYS AT SCHOOL</h2>
<p>
Polly and her friends had moved into the
Studio and were recovering from the orgy of the
house-warming given them by the Evans and Latimers
the previous evening, when the two boys came
to say good-by.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, come on, Nolla—bring Polly and see us
to the train,” coaxed Jim, watching the clock on
the mantel.
</p>
<p>
“But, Jim, we honestly haven’t the time! If
you <em>knew</em> all we had to do this week!” sighed
Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Why, we could have <em>been</em> there in the time you
have taken to explain how busy you are,” grumbled
Jim.
</p>
<p>
“Then get out! If I have wasted so much precious
time it is because you stand there and make
me. Good-by, old pal, now scat!” Eleanor held
out her hand and laughed. But Jim was not so
easily daunted.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75'></a>75</span>
</p>
<p>
“Where’s Ken all this time? Oh, I say, Ken!
Come on!”
</p>
<p>
“I think Ken and Polly went down the street
while you two were out in the garden hunting for
the grass,” said Mrs. Stewart, without a smile.
</p>
<p>
Jim laughed. And Eleanor caught up her hat
from the divan and ran to the door. “If they go
away like that, then you and I will, too.”
</p>
<p>
Having reached the corner, however, Jim and
Eleanor saw Ken and Polly intently studying something
held in the latter’s palm.
</p>
<p>
“Come on—we will see what it is they caught?”
said Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Nolla, see what Ken gave me for a keep-sake.
We found it over at Old Izaac’s,” exclaimed
Polly, holding out the strange trinket for
her friend to admire.
</p>
<p>
“Why, it’s a real scarab. Isn’t it a beauty,”
said Eleanor, then suddenly wishing Jim had
thought of giving her a keep-sake.
</p>
<p>
“That’s why I wanted you to come out with me.
I told Ken you girls’d forget about us the minute
we were out of sight, unless you had something to
remind you of us,” explained Jim.
</p>
<p>
“Come on, then, and let Nolla pick out what
she wants,” added Ken, laughingly.
</p>
<p>
“I’ll take the queen’s pearl necklace!” and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76'></a>76</span>
young hearts made merry of the pearls that had
cost so many lives and so much misery.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor selected a peculiar seal set in a strange
stone. “There, I will use it on the first letter I
write you,” she said.
</p>
<p>
“Now that you are here, you may as well jump
on the car and take us to the train,” begged
Jim.
</p>
<p>
And this time he had his way. But they did
not catch the four o’clock express to New Haven,
as it was four-ten when they reached the gates and
found them closed.
</p>
<p>
“Now we’ll have to sit and talk until five,”
laughed Jim, exultantly.
</p>
<p>
“We’ll do nothing of the sort! I told you we
had no time to waste on you boys, and we only
came thus far to be polite in exchange for the
keep-sakes. But you can have them back if you
think it gives you the right to order me around.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor held out the seal, but Jim looked forlorn.
Then she laughed because he felt bad at
her teasing.
</p>
<p>
“Come now, Jimmy, say good-by like an old
dear, and tell Polly and me to run home.”
</p>
<p>
“I wish you were my sister!” sighed Jim.
</p>
<p>
“Your sister? What good would that do you?”
asked Eleanor.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77'></a>77</span>
</p>
<p>
“Because you’d let me kiss you good-by!” retorted
he.
</p>
<p>
They all laughed merrily, and Polly said:
“You’d never want to kiss her if she was a sister.
You wouldn’t even have asked her to come to the
station with you.”
</p>
<p>
“You’re right, Poll! Now I’m going—good-by,
boys!” and Eleanor held forth both hands—one
to each boy.
</p>
<p>
After many repeated good-bys, the girls left and
slowly walked down the avenue. When they
had reached the parkway that runs over the car-tunnel,
and is known by the name of Madison avenue,
Polly said: “Why wouldn’t you wait for the
train, Nolla?”
</p>
<p>
“Because, Polly, I like both those boys and I
don’t want to lose them so soon. If a male thinks
we females will run at beck and call for them, they
quickly weary of such a game. It is the one who
refuses to be wound about a finger, that always
keeps the beaux on a string.”
</p>
<p>
Polly laughed. “You are too worldly-wise for
me. Now I never should have dreamed of such a
thing.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, I’m right! One reason Bob never has
a beau is just because she shows how anxious she
is for one.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78'></a>78</span>
</p>
<p>
“Oh, no, Nolla! The reason Bob hasn’t any
beaux is on account of her disposition—you know
that!”
</p>
<p>
“That, too, Polly. But mostly, because she
throws herself at the head of any eligible man. I
tell you, a man won’t have it so!”
</p>
<p>
“Never mind, Nolla. You and I are never going
to have beaux, so we should worry! We will
marry our profession!” said Polly.
</p>
<p>
The following Monday, Anne escorted her two
charges to the school on West End avenue. It was
a wonderful Autumn day and the girls pictured
how beautiful the mountains about Pebbly Pit must
look on such a clear day.
</p>
<p>
As the Fifth avenue bus was most convenient
for Polly and her companions, boarding it at Thirtieth
street and leaving it at the corner of Seventy-second
street where West End avenue started
northward, they had but a short walk to reach the
school.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor had been most particular with Polly’s,
and her own appearance, that morning. “For,”
said she, “first impressions are lasting. We must
be sure and make a favorable dent in these girls.”
</p>
<p>
“But we don’t know one of them, Nolla,” argued
Polly.
</p>
<p>
“All the more reason why we should take the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79'></a>79</span>
head of the line!” retorted Eleanor, tossing her
head.
</p>
<p>
Anne laughed, and thought to herself, “They
will surely take the head in everything, for I never
saw two such live girls.”
</p>
<p>
But to Eleanor’s chagrin the examinations
classed Polly with girls of fifteen to sixteen, while
she was placed with girls of fourteen years. This
caused the temperamental girl to feel discouraged
and she began to blame her ill-health for her backwardness.
</p>
<p>
In every other way, Polly and she ranked equal;
and not a girl in the whole exclusive school could
boast of better or more fashionable dresses than
these two western scholars. Eleanor was most
talkative, describing her home in Chicago and the
people the Maynards knew. Then she whispered,
covertly, how rich Polly Brewster was—she owned
a great gold mine all in her own rights. She spoke
thrillingly of Rainbow Cliffs and the tons upon tons
of rare stones to be found there, until every girl
sighed in envy. But Eleanor failed to mention
that the stones would have to be cut and polished
before they would be of any use to anyone.
</p>
<p>
A few stray sentences of these conversations
reached Anne’s ears, and she felt puzzled to know
what was best to do. Eleanor was not bragging
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80'></a>80</span>
because she needed place or power in the group,
but the teacher understood that she was exaggerating
for Polly’s sake. She wanted all the girls to
look up to Polly as a subject would to a queen.
She knew how Barbara had felt toward the simple
ranch people, and these girls were of the same ilk—society’s
pets. And they could make life unhappy
for Polly, or a dream of joy.
</p>
<p>
That afternoon, as school closed, Anne overheard
one of the girls repeating Eleanor’s words,
but they had not lost in the repetition. In fact,
Anne was sure Eleanor did not say quite all that
she was credited with. On the way to the Studio,
therefore, she determined to speak to Eleanor
about the matter.
</p>
<p>
“Eleanor, you seemed to make a bushel of
friends without any trouble,” said Anne.
</p>
<p>
“I always do. It’s best to have done with it,
and then you can sift out those you don’t like,
afterward,” laughed Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“How about you, Polly?” questioned Anne.
</p>
<p>
“I was too busy with my lessons to bother about
anyone, but I thought the girls acted rather queer
this afternoon. I caught some of them whispering
about me, and some were casting envious glances
my way. I can’t understand why they should?”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor gasped. Here was a danger she had
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81'></a>81</span>
not thought of. She wouldn’t risk Polly’s peace
or popularity for anything in the world, but she
may have unconsciously done just that very thing!
</p>
<p>
“I heard some of the girls talking of your gold
mine and Rainbow Cliffs, and I wondered if you
had made such close friends, so soon,” ventured
Anne, guilefully.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, <em>I</em> did that! Nothing like putting on a lot
of ‘dog’ if you want to make a splash in the puddle,”
hastily explained Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
Anne felt like laughing but she hid her face,
and Polly turned pale with annoyance.
</p>
<p>
“Why, Nolla! How could you? You know
I’d rather be considered a nobody than stand in a
false light. Now what can I do to clear this up?”
</p>
<p>
“It isn’t false light at all, Polly. You can’t do
anything now without making me out a fibber,”
retorted Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“You are acting just like your sister Bob might
have done! That’s the worst thing I can say to
<em>you</em>,” scorned Polly.
</p>
<p>
“And I did it all for you, too!” whimpered
Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Didn’t I tell you, back at Pebbly Pit, that I
wanted to cut my own cloth? For goodness’ sake,
don’t interfere in my private life again!”
</p>
<p>
“But you’ve got to let folks know you’re someone, or
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82'></a>82</span>
you will never climb to the top of the
heap,” argued Eleanor, stubbornly.
</p>
<p>
“I have my own method of reaching the top,
Eleanor, and it is not <em>that</em> way. I was Polly Brewster
before you ever knew me and I am that same
Polly Brewster even after having a gold mine and
a mile of lava-jewels thrust down my throat. Don’t
say another word!”
</p>
<p>
Polly turned her back and went to the end seat
on the bus, leaving Anne to console poor Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Look’a here, Anne—did I do anything so
awful?”
</p>
<p>
“You made a serious mistake, Nolla, when you
talked to those strange girls about Polly. You
tried to make her appear as if she approved of
your method of bragging about the mine and
money.”
</p>
<p>
“W-h-y, I never dreamed of such a thing! I
only wanted these New York girls to get it straight
from the start that our Polly of Pebbly Pit was
‘some punkins’;” Eleanor tried to laugh.
</p>
<p>
“And you succeeded in not only humiliating
Polly, but me also, because I am responsible for
both of you, to a certain degree.”
</p>
<p>
“Humiliate Polly and you!” gasped Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Exactly what you did. I have been placed in
command of this little family, and the first day at
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83'></a>83</span>
school, you deliberately thrust yourself forward—take
my place, so to speak—and tell all the strangers
there who Polly is, and who you and I are. In
fact, you give out information that should come
only from me.”
</p>
<p>
“I’m sorry, but for goodness’ sake let’s drop it,
now.”
</p>
<p>
“We’d better settle the matter once for all,
Nolla, before we drop it. If Polly and you are to
continue the wonderful friendship begun this Summer
at the ranch, you must never again say, or do
anything, that trespasses on her rights. Remember
that each one of us has an individual right to
impart what we like about our private affairs—be
it family or fortune. But the moment another
speaks for us, then it becomes gossip and scandal
on the part of that impertinent one.
</p>
<p>
“I do not propose having my time and thoughts
disturbed by any inharmony rising between you
two girls, and if another occasion comes up, when
Polly and you disagree as you have to-day, I’ll
wire to your father to come and take you home.
If Polly is to blame, then I’ll send her home. But,
thus far, it is you who trespassed on Polly’s rights.
</p>
<p>
“If you’ll think this over quietly, and without
prejudice, I’m sure you’ll agree that I am just and
right in my stand.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84'></a>84</span>
</p>
<p>
That evening, Eleanor apologised to Anne and
Polly for her thoughtless impulse that day, and
fervently prayed that she never be tempted to open
her lips again.
</p>
<p>
It was not Polly’s nature to sulk or remember
unpleasant episodes, so everything went along
smoothly after that first day at school.
</p>
<p>
Tuesday evening Mr. Fabian called, and was
welcomed to his erstwhile fireside. During that
visit, it developed that he had accepted an offer
which several of his friends had urged upon him.
He was to teach, three times a week, a class in art
designing at Cooper Union Institute. And before
he said good-night to the ladies, it had been suggested
and settled, that Polly and Eleanor were
to join the evening classes on the three nights a
week that their friend taught at the school.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Stewart worried lest the girls would be
wearing themselves out with too much study. But
it was found that the work in the art classes under
Mr. Fabian’s watchful eye, was a pleasure rather
than a study or work.
</p>
<p>
Thus they started to build on a firm foundation,
and by degrees they mastered the rudiments of
geometrical drawing, then went on to ornamental
designing, next taking up the study of architecture
in so far as it applied to interior decorating, and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85'></a>85</span>
at the end of the year they were drawing free hand
and perspective sketches. But that was not until
the school term was almost over.
</p>
<p>
By the end of the first week at Mrs. Wellington’s
school, the girls had chosen their friends for
the term. It was most interesting to Anne to note
that a certain social element looked up to Eleanor
as their natural leader, while the quiet persistent
sort silently fell in line with Polly. Both girls
were admired and heartily liked, by teachers as
well as scholars, but there was one disturbing
young lady who resented the usurping of her
former undisputed sway in the school by the two
new-comers.
</p>
<p>
Elizabeth Dalken was the pretty, but vain
daughter of a superficial society woman who
thought of nothing but self-indulgence, leaving the
training of her child to Fate. Hence, Elizabeth
was the usual product: selfish, proud, arrogant and
hypocritical. She was but fifteen, yet she could
slyly cheat at bridge, smoke her mother’s cigarettes,
and flirt with the men who frequented her
home, as cleverly as her mother could.
</p>
<p>
For two previous years she had taken the reins
of leadership at Wellington’s school and she had
returned the third Fall fully expecting to resume
her authority.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86'></a>86</span>
</p>
<p>
To learn that a western ranch-girl without a
record in “Who’s Who,” and a mere <em>Chicago</em>
Miss, governed her former subjects, turned Elizabeth
white with rage. She could say nothing
about it, however, without starting her school
friends’ teasing and laughing at her downfall. And
she could not leave the school, because her mother
had deserted her husband. He was the cashier for
all the luxuries Mrs. Dalken and her daughter indulged
themselves in, and he had selected Wellington’s
school for the girl, and had paid the tuition
fee in advance, so it stood to reason that he would
not consent to a change, now, on account of her
jealousy.
</p>
<p>
So on that first Friday evening, upon leaving
school, Elizabeth promised herself that she would
“get square” with those “two nobodys” in short
order! She would show those other girls at Mrs.
Wellington’s just who <em>she</em> was, and why they
should have kept her as their leader!
</p>
<p>
But the western girls were not shamming their
lovable characters, and as time went on, their companions
appreciated, more and more, the sterling
qualities in their chosen leaders. Thus Elizabeth
found it no easy task to influence the girls against
them.
</p>
<p>
October passed and November began, with the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87'></a>87</span>
girls at Mrs. Wellington’s planning for a Thanksgiving
entertainment to close their school for the
holiday. Here Polly was discounted, as she had
never taken part in amateur theatricals, and knew
nothing about them. Had anyone asked her to differentiate
between the Tuscan, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian
or Composite order of classic periods of
architecture, she could have described either, or all
of them, almost as well as Mr. Fabian himself
could do. But the scholars at Mrs. Wellington’s
never dreamed of Polly’s ambition and knowledge
along such lines of study.
</p>
<p>
So Elizabeth found herself the one to whom
everyone appealed about costumes, parts, and the
general management of affairs. Eleanor resented
the obvious fact that <em>she</em> was completely ignored
when the various important parts were distributed,
but Polly never gave it a thought.
</p>
<p>
“We couldn’t accept a part, anyway, Nolla,
with all the time we have planned to give to exhibitions
and lectures, this month,” Polly reminded
her.
</p>
<p>
“And your Daddy will be visiting New York
that last week, Nolla, and you must devote your
spare time to his entertainment—not be fussing
with a lot of girls over a silly poem,” added Anne.
</p>
<p>
Thus the sharp sting was withdrawn and Eleanor forgot
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88'></a>88</span>
all about her injured feelings. But
Elizabeth Dalken believed she was merely pretending
that she felt no grudge against the Director
of the Play. And it gave Elizabeth great
satisfaction to believe she had actually offended
the two popular western girls.
</p>
<p>
During November afternoons, and on several
evenings, Mr. Fabian took the three friends to
the Metropolitan Museum where wonderful exhibits
of private collections were given. Here
every New Yorker was admitted free to see genuine
antiques of furniture, paintings, tapestries and
rugs, plate and ornaments. And with such a marvelous
judge to escort them about and explain details
that might have escaped other than his knowing
eye, Anne and her two charges felt well repaid
for their time. It proved not only instructive but
very absorbing—these personal talks with Mr.
Fabian about the rare and ancient articles.
</p>
<p>
Valuable volumes treating on subjects which
most aspirants of art are acquainted with, began
to fill the shelves in the rooms on the first floor of
the stable-studio; and quite often, Mr. Fabian
brought in a “treasure” he had picked up at a
second-hand book shop. He would read aloud in
a cultivated voice, such bits as he thought would
interest young and ambitious girls. Then, after
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89'></a>89</span>
he had bid his hostesses good-night, he generally
left the volume behind.
</p>
<p>
Perhaps the very fact that Polly and Eleanor
seemed to be apart from the other school-girls
and their pastimes, made them all the more desirable
to court. Not but that the two western girls
liked fun and frolic as much as anyone, but they
seemed always to have engagements with people
the school-girls had never met, nor heard of.
</p>
<p>
Now and then, Mrs. Wellington took her girls
to a matinee, and then Polly and Eleanor laughed
and enjoyed the play as heartily as the others. But
while other school-girls were foolishly mincing up
and down the Peacock Allies of the large hotels,
and sipping tea in company with young men, the
two girl chums were eagerly listening to a lecture
given at one of the art buildings, or admiring a
private collection only open to the public for a
few afternoons.
</p>
<p>
A few days before Thanksgiving, Mr. Maynard
arrived and then the routine of the girls’
daily life suddenly changed.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor insisted upon her father taking her
room while she went to Polly’s chamber to sleep
upon the day-bed there. Mr. Maynard wanted to
remain at the hotel to save the girls any inconvenience,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90'></a>90</span>
but the girls would not hear of his being
away from Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
The school play was scheduled for the Tuesday
evening before Thanksgiving Day. But all the
ball-rooms and other auditoriums, had been engaged
weeks before November, so Mrs. Wellington
had to take what she could get, or postpone
the date of the play. Elizabeth Dalken was determined
to have it on the evening set, and so the
poor lady started again, to seek for some available
hall, with Elizabeth accompanying her. Finally
they secured a small assembly hall near Central
Park West, but it was far from being desirable
for the girls.
</p>
<p>
The dirty walls had to be hidden beneath flags
and bunting, and the tarnished gas chandeliers had
to be covered with crepe paper. The crude stage
was decorated with pine branches and palms, and
in places where the doors or windows were located,
(minus the doors,) the girls grouped palms
and evergreens, so that the hall looked quite inviting
before evening.
</p>
<p>
A bevy of happy girls superintended the decorations
while butlers, grooms, and even the chauffeurs,
did the hard work. Polly and Eleanor
joined the merry group and instantly offered to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91'></a>91</span>
work, but Elizabeth Dalken scorned their assistance.
</p>
<p>
“People who live in a <em>stable</em> can know nothing
about decorating!” she said, insultingly.
</p>
<p>
Polly sent her a glance of pity, but Eleanor retorted:
“Stable! Well, the richest and most respected
banker of Chicago is visiting us in that
stable! And he is my very own father, too! If
you were out there, now, I’d hate to think of what
we’d do to <em>you</em>!”
</p>
<p>
Elizabeth sneered and was about to reply, but
Polly dragged her friend away, forcibly, and they
were soon leaving the room.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Wellington had been thoroughly enjoying
her conversation with the pleasant banker from
Chicago, and now she smilingly said: “I can
readily see where Eleanor gets her common sense
and pleasing manners.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Maynard laughed and watched the two
girls hurry over to join him. A glance at his
daughter’s face, however, told him that something
had gone wrong, but Mrs. Wellington hoped to
check the complaint at that moment. She suddenly
turned her head, seemed to hear someone
call, and then spoke to Polly.
</p>
<p>
“Come with me, dears, I believe we are wanted
in the dressing rooms.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92'></a>92</span>
</p>
<p>
Once out of ear-shot of Mr. Maynard, she
whispered: “Oh, do not allow Eleanor to say one
word to her father that will spoil everything. I
will look into this matter myself after to-night.
But so much depends on this play going smoothly,
and how can it if some one causes an explosion?”
</p>
<p>
Polly felt sorry for poor Mrs. Wellington, for
she really did have a hard life of it, trying to keep
peace continually where so many girls were concerned.
And she promised to try and calm Eleanor’s
fury and determination to oust Elizabeth
Dalken from the Wellington School for Young
Ladies.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93'></a>93</span><a name='chVI' id='chVI'></a>CHAPTER VI—THE NIGHT OF THE PLAY</h2>
<p>
Of the sixty odd pupils in Mrs. Wellington’s
school, at least fifteen of them were to participate
in the play. There was to be a Chorus of six girls,
and a Ballet, besides the principals who also acted
the drama to follow. Consequently the representative
scholars not appearing on the stage, had
been asked to act as ushers, and general supervisors
of harmony.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian and Mr. Maynard conducted Anne
and her mother to the seats reserved for them, and
soon the friends and families of the scholars filed
in and took their seats. As the hall was generally
used for other purposes, the floor was not graded,
and the seats were not attached to the floor. They
were ordinary wooden folding chairs to be piled
up at the end of the performance.
</p>
<p>
The pianist and other music teachers from
school formed the orchestra, and their opening
number was rendered so well that an encore
followed.
</p>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i002' id='i002'></a>
<img src="images/illus-094.jpg" alt="POLLY STAGGERED OUT OF THE DOOR CARRYING ELIZABETH ON HER SHOULDER." title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>POLLY STAGGERED OUT OF THE DOOR CARRYING ELIZABETH ON HER SHOULDER.</span>
</div>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94'></a>94</span></div>
<p>
Eleanor whispered comically to Polly, as they
stood in the entrance door: “Maybe the friends
hope to postpone the acting a little longer.”
</p>
<p>
When the curtain was drawn aside and the first
act of the playlet began, individuals in the audience
became interested in watching their own girls
in the troupe. The Chorus did very well, and the
Ballet danced as gracefully as well-taught girls
should, but once the actual acting began, there was
a slight disappointment felt by the spectators.
</p>
<p>
The leading lady (the programme said it was
Miss Elizabeth Dalken) was the whole show. She
managed to keep in the lime-light even when she
was not speaking, or acting a part. And so much
of one actress, whether good or bad, was bound to
pall on the audience.
</p>
<p>
“Polly, she’s spoiling the whole play! I wonder
the other girls stood for it at the rehearsals,”
whispered Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“She didn’t act that way, before, I’m sure.
Marion King told me all about it. She’s doing it
now just to show off!”
</p>
<p>
“Not to her family! because not one of her folks
are here. I heard her tell Estelle that her mother
was going to a fashionable ball, and, of course,
her father wouldn’t come because he had no invitation
from Elizabeth.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95'></a>95</span>
</p>
<p>
“Well,” persisted Polly, feeling sorry for the
girl, “she must have uncles or aunts or cousins,
here.”
</p>
<p>
“She hasn’t any in New York. Her father
comes from upstate and his folks lived there. No
one knows who her mother was, so she hasn’t a
soul, here, but the chauffeur. He’s downstairs
having refreshments.”
</p>
<p>
The second act ended and everyone sighed in
relief because the play was foolish and so poorly
acted, even for amateurs. Mrs. Wellington felt
deeply hurt when she found how Elizabeth had
chosen chums rather than actors for the principal
parts in the play.
</p>
<p>
The third act began, in which Elizabeth was
dressed in a spangled green ball-gown. It was
very tight about the ankles and very low about
the neck. It was too daring, even for a young girl
acting a part. The gown had a long swishing tail
at the back that could have been graceful on a
vampire, but not on this posing girl.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Wellington shook her head disapprovingly
at sight of Elizabeth, and wished, more than
once, that she had taken more time to review the
actors and their costumes, before they appeared
in public.
</p>
<p>
The Assembly Hall building where the play
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96'></a>96</span>
was given, had four stories. The first floor was
used for refreshments, with a kitchen at the back.
The second was a billiard parlor for the use of
private clubs. The third floor was given over to
the Hall, and the fourth floor was turned
into dressing-rooms, card-rooms, smoking-room,
et cetera.
</p>
<p>
As no late arrivals were expected after the third
act had opened the ushers, placed at the doors,
closed them to shut out the talking and laughing
in the billiard rooms. Then they sat down at
either side of the door, to watch the play.
</p>
<p>
The third act was progressing slowly, when the
ushers heard sounds of confusion coming from
downstairs. But they merely exchanged glances
and thought some men were quarreling over
a game of billiards.
</p>
<p>
Soon afterward, a faint odor and a haze of
smoke penetrated through the chinks of the doors,
and Polly jumped up quickly to investigate. The
moment she opened a door, however, a thick cloud
of smoke poured in. She had to cough, but she
remembered to instantly slam the door again.
</p>
<p>
The other girls saw the smoke and a panic might
have followed, had not Anne immediately jumped
upon the stage and shouted:
</p>
<p>
“Remember—do not lose your heads! That is
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97'></a>97</span>
the only danger. We can all get out safely if
everyone will be calm and orderly.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Maynard took Mrs. Stewart with one arm,
and caught Eleanor in his other, then called to Mr.
Fabian to do the same with Anne and Polly. But
there was such a dense mob at the only exit doors,
that it was impossible to force a way through there,
and the heavy smoke was now rapidly filling the
hall.
</p>
<p>
To add to the scene of fear and confusion, the
women in the assembly cried, some screamed, the
girls ran back and forth, and the men were venting
their fears in calling upon Deity,—some
scarcely audible, and others in shrill screams of
excitement.
</p>
<p>
Outside, one could hear the mingled calls and
shouts of onlookers, the clanging of bells on the
engines, and the yells of the people who had escaped
and wanted to help their friends out. There
were four front windows of the hall where the
school entertainment was being given, but these
were now jammed with women who sought that
way to gain a breath of air, but were too timid to
jump out to the street; and there were no fire-escapes
to be found. The hallways and several
doors opening to them, were a pitiful sight. The
men, women, and children were crying, jostling,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98'></a>98</span>
and stampeding each other in their vain efforts to
get out and find the stairway in the dense smoke
that kept pouring up from below.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian saw the panic and realized that his
friends must seek a rear exit, or remain until the
tardy firemen brought the ladders up to the building
to help them out. So he hurried to the door
back of the stage. It had escaped the frightened
eyes of others. Having learned that this door
opened upon an entry that ran to a rear window,
he next discovered the usual fire-escape that ran
down to the yard, and up to the roof. It took him
but a moment to assure himself that the escape
was safe, then he rushed back.
</p>
<p>
“This way! Follow me—everyone!” he shouted
to his friends.
</p>
<p>
They all hurried to the window and Mr. Fabian
went first, in order to assist the ladies out to
the iron-slatted platform, and then to start them,
sure-footed, on the upward climb of the narrow
iron steps.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Stewart went first, but she was so nervous
that Mr. Fabian followed closely behind her to
steady her trembling form. Anne followed after
her mother in climbing through the window, and
Mr. Maynard followed her. The two girls were
about to climb out on the platform when they
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99'></a>99</span>
heard a moan, and then a shrill cry, from the small
dressing-room back of the stage.
</p>
<p>
Anne ordered the girls to come out, but Polly
turned and ran back. Eleanor followed, and
Anne, distracted, climbed back, too.
</p>
<p>
“Nolla, tie something over your mouth and nose—use
your chiffon scarf,” commanded Polly, winding
a wide silk sash about her own head.
</p>
<p>
The girls groped along the entry but could not
distinguish a thing in the thick, choking haze. Then
Polly came to the dressing-room back of the stage.
This was comparatively clear from smoke, and
there the girls saw Elizabeth Dalken stretched
upon the floor, a cut in her forehead attesting to
the cause of her sharp scream.
</p>
<p>
“Great Scott, Polly! What can we do now?”
cried Eleanor, as the idea of trying to carry the
girl up the steep ladder-way flashed across her
mind only to be spurned. She had no idea of leaving
her there to her fate, however.
</p>
<p>
“If we only had a rope!” wailed Polly.
</p>
<p>
“But we haven’t! If I only knew this house
better I might find a back-stairway. Most city
houses have them and I should think this place
would have one.”
</p>
<p>
“Of course! Nolla, close this door to keep out
smoke. I’ll look for the stairs.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100'></a>100</span>
</p>
<p>
The few excited sentences were muttered
through the mufflers tied over the girls’ mouths
and noses. Then both girls began groping their
way to the rear, hunting for the back-stairs.
</p>
<p>
The mass of people that had surged from the
Hall had made for the wide front stairs, and but
few remembered to seek for a back exit. And
these had speedily found a way down. Polly and
Eleanor also found the narrow back stairs, then
Polly hastily commanded:
</p>
<p>
“Run and tell Anne—she can call to your Dad
and explain. Then tell her to come this way, with
us. I’ll lift Elizabeth over my shoulders and
start down with her—Anne and you follow, at
once!”
</p>
<p>
In another moment, Polly was back in the dressing-room
while Eleanor was running for the rear
window to advise Anne. But she found her already
inside tying a veil over her mouth and nose.
</p>
<p>
“Nolla—where’s Polly?”
</p>
<p>
“All right—come on!”
</p>
<p>
“I told your father—they are safe on the roof—hurry
now!”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor led Anne through the smoke, and just
as they reached the entry, Polly staggered out of
the stage-door with the unconscious girl hanging
over her shoulder.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101'></a>101</span>
</p>
<p>
“Polly! Polly! You never can carry her!”
cried Anne, in a smothered voice through the
veiling.
</p>
<p>
But Polly kept her mouth closed and struggled
on to the back stairs. Anne began to cough and
choke as a reward for trying to speak, but she
reached the stairs first and rushed on down to see
if there was a safe passage below. Eleanor was
close upon her heels, and Polly followed more
circumspectly.
</p>
<p>
They reached the kitchen of the house without
trouble but the heat as they passed by the second
floor was terrific. Once down on the ground floor
they found the rear of the place quite free from
smoke, but it might only be because the fire overhead
was blazing upward. At any moment the
wall or upper floors might crash down and fall
upon them.
</p>
<p>
“Nolla—how can we get out of this pen?” cried
Anne.
</p>
<p>
“If the house is anything like Chicago’s, I’ll
show you. There must be an area or cellar exit to
the street.”
</p>
<p>
The kitchen light was still burning but it looked
weird in the smoke-laden atmosphere. Eleanor
tried different doors but found that they opened
into passages leading to closets or to the front
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102'></a>102</span>
rooms. Finally she opened one and caught a whiff
of fresh uncontaminated air.
</p>
<p>
“Thank heavens! Here it is, but I don’t know
where it ends.”
</p>
<p>
Anne and she pushed out, with Polly behind
them. They were in a dark alley, now, and had
to trust to good fortune to come out somewhere,
in safety. Down several stone steps, and along
another dark, damp area they went, and then Eleanor
stumbled against a closed door.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, mercy! Are we locked in here?” she
yelled desperately, beating the door with her
clenched fists.
</p>
<p>
“Nolla—let me feel for a handle—you are
hysterical!” cried Anne, swiftly passing her hands
over the rough wood.
</p>
<p>
“Hurry, hurry! I can’t carry this weight a minute
longer!” breathed Polly, hoarsely.
</p>
<p>
Just at that moment, Anne’s hand struck an iron
bolt. In a second she had shot it backwards, and
the heavy door swung open to give them an exit
to the side street.
</p>
<p>
All three girls ran frantically forward and Polly
dropped her heavy burden upon a grass strip
which edged the curb. Eleanor sobbed with relief
and Anne fell upon her knees in silent thanksgiving.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103'></a>103</span>
</p>
<p>
“I’m off, girls, to see if I can help, in front.
Have a care for Elizabeth,” cried Polly, and away
she flew.
</p>
<p>
That silenced Eleanor’s hysteria quicker than
anything else, and in another moment she was
gone after her friend, leaving Anne to watch the
still unconscious girl on the grass.
</p>
<p>
The scene in front of the building was one of
spectacular interest. Seeing the crowds of fashionably-dressed
people grouped opposite the flaring
house, it would seem that everyone of the
guests had escaped. But there was a deafening
mixture of cries and shouts from every direction.
Some were crying for lost friends, some wailed for
help because of injuries inflicted by the stampede;
firemen signaled their associates; the old proprietor
of the Hall ran madly to and fro shouting
and gesticulating wildly to everyone; in fact, it
was a scene that shocked Polly to witness because
she thought city people had great presence of
mind.
</p>
<p>
Streams of water were pouring upon the flames
that shot from the second-story windows, but the
scaling ladders had not yet arrived, and the firemen
were striving to enter the front door in order
to carry the hose nozzle to a more effectual spot.
</p>
<p>
The Chief had sent some men through adjacent
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104'></a>104</span>
houses to reach the roofs and work downwards
from that vantage spot. But they had not yet appeared
when Polly saw how she could assist.
</p>
<p>
Acting upon an impulse, and doing exactly as
she would do if she was witnessing a fire at Oak
Creek, where the ranchers turn out and try to subdue
the flames, Polly hastily dropped the clinging
skirt of her evening dress. Having already removed
the silk sash while in the Hall, she now
dipped it in the flood of water that poured from
the hydrant on the curb and tied it over her mouth
and nose. Then she made a dash across the street.
</p>
<p>
She caught a coil of rope from the hook where
it hung on the back of the engine, and pushed a
way through the staring men. Before anyone
dreamed of her plan, or the firemen could restrain
her she had reached the corner of the building and
was agilely climbing the height by holding to the
copper leader.
</p>
<p>
A chorus of breathless gasps and frightened
screams came from the crowd but Polly heard
them not. She was too intent on her work. Being
nimble and so light-weight, and thoroughly accustomed
to climb up almost perpendicular cliffs, or
along dizzy peaks, this ascent seemed like play to
the mountain girl. But the onlookers were thrilled
to silence as they watched her climb to the roof,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105'></a>105</span>
and then safely crawl over the ledge. Instantly
there was such a wild cheer from the street, that
Polly wondered if something dreadful had happened.
She never thought that the acclamation
was meant for her.
</p>
<p>
Without hesitation, she ran over to a nearby
chimney and wound one end of the long rope about
it, then lowered the other end to the street. The
Chief saw the purpose, at once, and signaling
back to the girl who was leaning over the edge of
the roof, he had his men tie the rope ladder to the
rope. Then Polly began hoisting it slowly, until
its end came over the cornice.
</p>
<p>
Meantime, when Eleanor found her friend halfway
up the building, clinging to the leader and
finding foothold in the crevices between the bricks,
or on the steel bands that held the metal pipe to
its moorings, she also ran across the street, and
attempted to break through the cordon which had
been formed to permit the men to hold out a life-net
in case the daring climber should fall.
</p>
<p>
“I want to help Polly—she is my best friend!”
cried Eleanor, when the fireman made her turn
back.
</p>
<p>
Then she remembered the rear entrance from
which they had escaped. She turned to the Chief
and called hurriedly: “Send some men with
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106'></a>106</span>
me—I’ll show them the cellar entrance where they can
reach the roof and different floors from the back!”
</p>
<p>
“Hallam! Colter! Take your equipment and
follow this girl to a back door. You know what
to do!”
</p>
<p>
The men detailed for this duty, beckoned a few
others, and all ran after Eleanor who now made
for the area door. She flew past Anne who was
holding Elizabeth’s head upon her lap, but forgot
to glance that way. Having gained the cellar
door, she was about to go in but Hallam stopped
her.
</p>
<p>
“No, Miss—we dare not permit anyone to enter
a burning building, you know.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, but I want to join Polly on the roof! The
only reason I showed you this way was to get
through myself!”
</p>
<p>
“I’d lose my place in the contest for prize
medals, Miss, if I broke rules. You wouldn’t want
me to lose my promotion?”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor felt that he had the best of the argument,
so she very reluctantly turned and went back
to the front of the house. There she saw that the
firemen had climbed the ladder and were stationed
on the roof and on window ledges, holding the
hose from which the water poured in torrents upon
the fire inside.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107'></a>107</span>
</p>
<p>
Then the multitude now gathered on both
streets and the corners of the Parkway, were
treated to another thrill. The strand of rope Polly
had taken with her, was now used by her for
descent. Down the taut rope like a trained
monkey, came she, and safely jumped to the street.
</p>
<p>
Before she reached the ground however, a
chorus of wild yells and hurrahs went forth from
everyone in the crowd. The Chief called imperative
orders to his men waiting with him, and the
moment he had caught Polly, he forced his way
across the street, carrying her in his arms as if she
were a babe.
</p>
<p>
His men began climbing the rope ladder taking
a hose with them. From the vantage-points
gained by Polly’s courage, the firemen now kept
steady streams of water playing through the open
windows upon the fire beneath, and thus managed
to subdue it before the hook-and-ladder truck
wheeled up beside the building.
</p>
<p>
The men, led by Eleanor to the back-stairs,
directed their efforts from that side, and soon the
whole second and third floors became a bed of
wet smoldering embers. The rest of the structure
was saved.
</p>
<p>
It was learned, later, that the club members giving
the “smoker” to friends, had been careless of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108'></a>108</span>
butts and papers, and thus the fire must have
originated.
</p>
<p>
The family living in the beautiful house opposite
the fire, took Polly in charge, and kept away
the mob of curious people who wished to see and
talk with the heroine.
</p>
<p>
Polly was all right, and wondered why she
should be kept indoors when others on the outside
might need assistance. Suddenly she remembered
her discarded skirt!
</p>
<p>
“Oh, mercy me! Did I climb up that pipe looking
like this?” she cried, blushing furiously and
burying her face in the cushions of the divan.
</p>
<p>
“My dear child! It was a wonderful sight! No
one gave the slightest thought to your bloomers.
But now you shall have one of Ruth’s skirts,” returned
the lady of the house, fervently.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109'></a>109</span><a name='chVII' id='chVII'></a>CHAPTER VII—MRS. WELLINGTON’S THANKSGIVING</h2>
<p>
The moment Polly was given a skirt, she
donned it gratefully and said to Mrs. Ashby, her
hostess: “Now I must find Elizabeth and have
her cared for. I left her with Anne.”
</p>
<p>
“Where—where is she? I’ll send James for
them. But I want you to keep quiet, or you’ll be
prostrated, dear child.”
</p>
<p>
Polly smiled—she prostrated! But she explained:
“Anne is sitting on the grass on the side
street around the corner, taking care of the girl
who fainted in the back-room of the theatre.”
</p>
<p>
James was summoned from the front window
where he had been watching the fight against the
fire, and now took his orders eagerly. Polly
pointed out the corner where she had left her
friends and, in another moment, the butler was
gone.
</p>
<p>
“I s’pose I ought to go and hunt up my friends
who escaped over the roofs,” ventured Polly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110'></a>110</span>
</p>
<p>
“You’ll rest here upon this divan, or your
parents will sue me!” retorted Mrs. Ashby, trying
to compel, with gentle hands, obedience to her
command.
</p>
<p>
Polly laughed softly. “My parents would sue
you if you prevented me from doing my duty to
others. Why, you-all make such a fuss over that
pipe-climbing, and it is next to nothing for a Rocky
Mountain girl. A day in a blizzard on the cliffs
is ten times more hazardous.”
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Ashby was consumed with curiosity to ask
this handsome girl who she was, and all about herself,
but she controlled herself admirably, for she
knew her guest ought to keep quiet.
</p>
<p>
The door-bell rang and its echo pealed through
the house, but the servants were out watching the
exciting events of the fire, and James had been
sent for the other girls. So Mrs. Ashby opened
the door.
</p>
<p>
“I just heard that Polly Brewster was here—oh!
is she all right!” cried the excited voice of
Mrs. Wellington.
</p>
<p>
“Right as a trivet, dear Mrs. Wellington!”
called Polly springing from the couch to greet the
lady.
</p>
<p>
“Oh—oh! Thank God! I’ve worried and
cried over you three precious girls until my eyes
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111'></a>111</span>
are blinded! They told me that everyone was out
of the place but you three!”
</p>
<p>
“Did everyone manage to escape safely?” asked
Polly, anxiously.
</p>
<p>
“Everyone got out, but oh! such a panic! Some
are torn, and battered black and blue, from the
stampede down through those front stairs and
hall. I don’t believe a single soul got out with a
whole gown! They tell me it was all the fault
of that ‘Pool Club’ on the second floor; they gave
a ‘smoker’ to-night, and when the fire was discovered
on their floor, they caused the dreadful
block in the front halls.”
</p>
<p>
“Gowns are of no account if everyone escaped
with life,” said Mrs. Ashby.
</p>
<p>
“But it is most unfortunate for me, just now.
The story getting into the newspapers, will ruin
my reputation as a school principal. Folks will
ask, ‘Why did she ever choose such a place for
an entertainment;’ but they will never know that I
tried everywhere else, first, and found everything
engaged for this week. I begged the girl who
started the idea to postpone the play until the
week after Thanksgiving holiday, but she stubbornly
refused. So I took what I could get. I
dare not tell the reporters that it was merely to
<em>please</em> Elizabeth Dalken, and because Elizabeth’s
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112'></a>112</span>
father pays strictly in advance and has his daughter
take all ‘extras.’
</p>
<p>
“You have no idea what it means to me. I am
paying off the mortgages on that house where the
school is located, so that I might be able to take
a deep breath before I am too old to work. But
this unhappy accident will ruin my reputation as
a careful superintendent.”
</p>
<p>
“Elizabeth Dalken! I know her father very
well, and we think he is one of the finest of men.
We seldom meet Mrs. Dalken or the daughter, as
we do not belong to the same set. Since Mr.
Dalken separated from his wife, we have not seen
her at all, but he was here and dined with us, this
very evening,” said Mrs. Ashby.
</p>
<p>
“If I could only explain to him just how this
happened, he might not blame me for his daughter’s
injury.”
</p>
<p>
“Was she hurt?” exclaimed Mrs. Ashby. Then
James came in, followed by three girls, and the
adults who had escaped over the roofs.
</p>
<p>
“Here we are, Polly—safe and sound,” Mr.
Maynard’s cheery voice greeted the girl who
jumped up at sight of them.
</p>
<p>
Excited cries, and hugs, and happy laughs now
followed as each one found the others without a
hurt, Elizabeth Dalken being the only one who
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113'></a>113</span>
had received an injury, and that was merely a
flesh-wound cut by the edge of the door as her
head struck it.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Ashby took charge of Elizabeth, and
washed her face; then placed a strip of court plaster
over the cut to keep it clean.
</p>
<p>
The fire was out and the crowd had dispersed
before the firemen finished their work in and about
the house. The Chief came to Mrs. Ashby’s door
and asked for the young lady who was such a
marvellous climber. So he was invited in to see
for himself.
</p>
<p>
“Young lady, I want to make a record of this
deed, as I have to report everything to the police
department, you know. And I am proud to say,
our records are never kept in the dark when visitors
come in to see our engine house. It’s seldom
we can talk about, or show a page, with such a
brave act as yours, written upon it.”
</p>
<p>
Polly smiled. “But it really wasn’t anything to
fuss over. It wasn’t dangerous, you know, and for
anyone who can climb as well as I can, it would
have been cowardly to stand by and <em>not</em> act. You
needed a light, agile climber whose weight would
not break that leader away from the wall; and I
happened to be that one.”
</p>
<p>
The Chief and Mrs. Ashby exchanged glances,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114'></a>114</span>
then laughed. “I guess it’s no use trying to make
a heroine of her—she won’t have it so!” said he.
</p>
<p>
Then Eleanor spoke up. “That’s because she’s
accustomed to doing such great deeds out in the
mountains where she comes from—walking on the
heads of rattle-snakes, killing grizzlies and lions
as if they were rabbits, saving a lot of tenderfeet
from blizzards and landslides—these are but a
few of the <em>little</em> things she does out there!”
</p>
<p>
The New Yorkers gasped in astonishment; even
James, the butler, stood gaping with open mouth
at a real live heroine—never seen before by him
except on the movie screen. So intensely interested
was he, that he failed to hear his master enter
by the front door, followed by a gentleman. They
both burst into the room and stood amazed.
</p>
<p>
Then Mr. Ashby apologised for the abrupt entrance:
“Dalken and I were at the Club when
we heard of the fire so near my place. And when
Dalken heard that it was Mrs. Wellington’s
school-girls who were entertaining on the third
floor, he came with me to see if his daughter is
safe. Does anyone know where Elizabeth is?”
</p>
<p>
“Here—right here, Mr. Dalken,” Mrs. Ashby
quickly assured the father. And she beckoned
Mrs. Wellington to bring the girl from the alcove
where she had been resting.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115'></a>115</span>
</p>
<p>
“My poor little girl!” quavered the father,
taking the meek and broken-spirited Elizabeth in
his arms. “Are you badly hurt?”
</p>
<p>
She began to cry softly against his coat collar
but Mrs. Ashby reassured Mr. Dalken. “Only a
scratch. Her forehead may swell a bit and be discolored
for a few days, but that is all. Elizabeth
owes her life to these two girls here, Mr. Dalken.
One carried her out of the building after she had
fainted, and the other went first and found a way
down the back stairs.”
</p>
<p>
“Not really!” the amazed man gasped. “Tell
me about it.”
</p>
<p>
But Polly was a poor narrator, so Anne decided
to speak. She was bound that Polly should not
belittle this deed as she had the climbing to the
fourth floor of the burning building.
</p>
<p>
That Mr. Dalken was deeply moved, everyone
could see, and when he shook hands with the two
girls he said gravely, “I shall never forget how
you kept me from being childless. My baby boy
died three years ago to-night, and I could not have
stood losing my little girl, too, on the anniversary
of that sad experience.”
</p>
<p>
Elizabeth then remembered the date and hiding
her face, ran back to the alcove to cry softly to
herself. Mrs. Ashby and Mrs. Wellington knew
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116'></a>116</span>
the sad story, so they allowed her to weep alone.
But Mr. Dalken, tender-hearted, would have gone
to comfort the girl, had not Mrs. Ashby placed a
detaining hand upon his arm and said: “No, dear
friend—better leave her to remember and realize
everything.”
</p>
<p>
Polly and Eleanor saw and heard and could not
understand, but they thought it was no concern of
theirs, so they forgot it.
</p>
<p>
Everyone had been introduced informally to
everyone else, and at last Mrs. Ashby said: “I
have had a bit of refreshment served for you, in
the dining room, before you go home. After such
exposures and excitement, I think we all will need
something.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian wished to excuse himself, but his
friends would not hear of it. Then Mr. Dalken
came over and spoke to him. “Are you Mr.
Fabian, the artist?”
</p>
<p>
“They say I am an artist, but I doubt it, myself,”
replied Mr. Fabian, humbly, but smiling at
the questioner.
</p>
<p>
“Then I am delighted to have met you, for I
have a niece studying in Paris, and she writes me
pages upon pages about Mrs. Fabian and the
daughter Nancy, and how lovely they have been
to take her about with them.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117'></a>117</span>
</p>
<p>
His wife and daughter were Mr. Fabian’s pet
subject so now he seemed to expand marvellously,
and smiled benignly upon everyone present. On
the way to the dining-room, Mr. Dalken and the
artist exchanged heart-to-heart ideas and were
soon fast friends.
</p>
<p>
But scarcely had they seated themselves ere
another mad peal of the door-bell took James
from the pleasant task of serving an impromptu
supper. He was heard arguing with someone in
the hall, then Mrs. Ashby turned to her husband
and said: “You go and see what is the matter.”
</p>
<p>
After a short time, three re-entered the room—James,
Mr. Ashby, and an ambitious-looking
young man with alert bright eyes.
</p>
<p>
“Representative from the Press wants us to give
him all the inside news about the fire,” explained
Mr. Ashby, looking at the circle about the table.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Wellington turned pale and gazed beseechingly
at Mr. Maynard, hoping he could help
her out in the inevitable story that would be written
up about her school. But Mr. Dalken saw
the look and comprehended immediately.
</p>
<p>
“Hello, Dunlap! How’d you get this assignment
from the night-editor?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh—it’s Mr. Dalken. I’m delighted to see
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118'></a>118</span>
you, sir,” returned the reporter, very respectfully.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, these are friends of mine. Some of them
are the dearest friends I have, so I do not wish
them to be annoyed by finding a garbled story in
the papers to-morrow morning. Consequently, I
will, with the assistance of these friends, give you
the facts, simple and straightforward, but see that
you add nothing to them nor delete a line. Tell
your boss that I said so!”
</p>
<p>
“I sure will, Mr. Dalken, and maybe I won’t
be the thankful guy if you tell me the story! Can
I say it came from you?” was the eager reply of
the man Dunlap.
</p>
<p>
“No, sir! I am not in this at all, except as one
who rushed here to help friends. Now this is the
story for your paper.”
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Wellington had been anxiously whispering
to Mr. Fabian, and the latter now secured Mr.
Dalken’s attention. “May I have a word with
you, in private, before the reporter takes down
any notes?”
</p>
<p>
Out of hearing of the others, Mr. Fabian then
explained that Elizabeth had stubbornly refused
to postpone the entertainment, and because of her
insistence, Mrs. Wellington had taken whatever
hall she could find. But she did not want Elizabeth
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119'></a>119</span>
to be made to bear any of the blame, so she
wants you to touch wisely on anything that has to
do with the theatricals.
</p>
<p>
“I certainly appreciate Mrs. Wellington’s
thoughtfulness and I will remember this. I’ll see
what can be done with Dunlap.”
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Dalken is a born story-teller, Dunlap, and
that is why he is so popular, I think,” remarked
Mr. Ashby, just then.
</p>
<p>
“Sit down there by Fabian, Dunlap, and join
our circle,” cordially invited the story-teller, after
he had frowned threateningly at his host.
</p>
<p>
“Give Dunlap some coffee and don’t let him jot
down a word until I’ve done talking. Then we
will pick out the notes he is to have,” added Mr.
Dalken.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, you can tell it so well, do let me write as
you narrate?” begged the reporter.
</p>
<p>
“No, sir! I can’t read short-hand and you may
get in a word I don’t want you to take. Here,
James, remove the pencil and pad from that young
man.”
</p>
<p>
Everyone laughed, and Dunlap meekly surrendered
the articles mentioned. Directly Mr.
Dalken began his story, the wily reporter had another
pencil and pad before him. But Fabian
stealthily took possession of these also, and the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120'></a>120</span>
laugh went against the young man that time.
</p>
<p>
While Mr. Dalken wove a veritable thriller out
of the material provided by the fire, Mrs. Wellington
wondered how it was possible to present
the facts so well and at the same time prove,
beyond doubt, that the young ladies of Mrs. Wellington’s
school were so perfectly trained and educated
that they were a great factor in saving lives
and property that night. At the end of the story,
Mr. Dalken said that some bright investor might
find a handsome revenue in building a fire-proof
Hall where just such entertainments could be
given—high-school girls who loved to give parties
but could not lease one of the hotel ball-rooms,
weeks in advance and pay exorbitant prices, and
then possibly change their plans before the event.
</p>
<p>
“You can make a separate paragraph of what I
said, if you like, and preface it with the remark:
‘When asked what he thought about the fire, Mr.
Dalken, who viewed the blaze from a house opposite
the scene, said’: you know the rest,” the
famous financier saw that the reporter comprehended,
and then he turned to the others seated
about the table.
</p>
<p>
“Anything to add to my story?”
</p>
<p>
“It was very fine, especially about our dear
Principal, but you didn’t say enough about Polly
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121'></a>121</span>
carrying Elizabeth safely out,” Eleanor said,
eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“I followed a lead given me by Mr. Fabian.
We all think it best not to mention names, but to
make the incident impersonal,” explained Mr.
Dalken.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor pouted, for she wanted to have Polly
given all the credit for what she did. But a sly
look from the reporter gave her an idea, and she
smiled back understandingly.
</p>
<p>
Then the story was pieced out for Dunlap and
when he had taken down all his notes, he jumped
up and said: “I know you will excuse me for rushing
away, but I want to get this in type at once. In
case you have forgotten something, or wish to send
me a photograph of anyone, call 10000 Greeley
and I’ll see to it, without fail.”
</p>
<p>
“That’s all you’ll get on this occasion,” laughed
Mr. Dalken as James started to show the young
man to the door. But in passing Eleanor, Dunlap
sent her a mental telegram, and she closed one eye
significantly.
</p>
<p>
“Oh—he left his pencils and paper!” exclaimed
Eleanor, jumping up instantly and running with
them to the front door.
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Dunlap—here is your private property
that Mr. Fabian had charge of,” was what the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122'></a>122</span>
guests in the dining-room heard. But to Dunlap
she hurriedly whispered: “I’ll ’phone you after
I leave here.”
</p>
<p>
Before the party broke up that night, Mrs. Ashby
learned that Mrs. Maynard was an old schoolmate
of hers, and expressed a wish that Polly and
Eleanor would visit her again and meet Ruth who
was then visiting friends for Thanksgiving week.
</p>
<p>
“I really cannot voice my gratitude to all these
kind friends,” said Mrs. Wellington, as they stood
in the reception hall saying good-night. “Not only
has dear Mr. Dalken turned harsh public condemnation
from my doors, but the story as he told
it, actually brings glory to the school.”
</p>
<p>
“And why should it not, my dear Madam?
Have you not fought and struggled with every
girl in your charge, to perfect and express just the
qualities I have given you credit for?” said Mr.
Dalken.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, yes, <em>I</em> have tried so hard, but how many
people, or even parents, would credit me with such
endeavors? Once they read it in the papers they
will accept the statement, but it is so hard to impress
folks by actual demonstration,” sighed the
thankful lady.
</p>
<p>
“Thank heavens, Mrs. Wellington, that you
have a whole day of peace before you, in which to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123'></a>123</span>
remember that you have found a group of people,
here, who not only appreciate your efforts but have
tried to make others approve them,” said Mrs.
Ashby, earnestly.
</p>
<p>
“Indeed I have! I expect to have the very best
of Thanksgivings, due to all of you dear people.
Some day I will be able to show my gratitude for
this.” And the lady’s voice quavered with emotion.
</p>
<p>
“And you’ll find the story in the papers will not
only spare you any criticism, but actually praise
your school,” added Mr. Ashby.
</p>
<p>
“You may be overwhelmed with new scholars,”
suggested Polly, innocently.
</p>
<p>
“That’s so! I’ve always heard that discreet
publicity is the finest kind of advertising,” Eleanor
declared. “This fine tale about your scholars
ought to bring back fifty percent returns.”
</p>
<p>
Everyone laughed heartily at hearing so young
a girl talk so business-like, and Mr. Dalken said:
“I am interested to know just where you got that
information?”
</p>
<p>
“Isn’t it true?” demanded Eleanor, turning her
bright eyes on him. “You see, Polly and I are
going into business together, pretty soon, and I
have to take notice of all approved methods of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124'></a>124</span>
winning success. I am to be the business manager
while Polly is the decorator.”
</p>
<p>
The new acquaintances were highly amused at
such talk, and Mr. Ashby laughingly inquired:
“What profession have you chosen?”
</p>
<p>
“Interior decorators. We have started, already;
we go to Cooper Union three nights a week
and Mr. Fabian takes us to all the lectures and
exhibitions on any subject that will give us ideas
and help.”
</p>
<p>
“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Dalken, finding the
girls were really serious. Mrs. Ashby was deeply
interested, but her husband took each of the prospective
decorators by the hand and shaking them
cordially, said: “Let us congratulate each other,
for I am already established as a decorator. I
want to help you onward in every possible way,
my dear girls, so call on me whenever you want
help. Just as Fabian takes you to these valuable
exhibitions and lectures, so the four of us pulling
together ought to arrive somewhere.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian was as pleased at the news as either
of his protegées, and they left the Ashbys feeling
very much at peace with the world and everything
in it.
</p>
<p>
As Eleanor ran down the shallow brown-stone
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125'></a>125</span>
steps to the sidewalk, she turned back and called
to Mr. Ashby: “Who knows! We may end by
going into partnership with you, some day!”
</p>
<p>
He laughed, and said: “Who knows?”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126'></a>126</span><a name='chVIII' id='chVIII'></a>CHAPTER VIII—A WEEK OF PLEASURE</h2>
<p>
As Mr. Maynard occupied Eleanor’s room at
the Studio, and she used the couch moved into
Polly’s room for the time being, it seemed difficult
for Eleanor to follow her desire to communicate
with Dunlap, the reporter, as soon as she got
home.
</p>
<p>
Everyone was dog-tired from the excitement
and the visit at the Ashbys afterward, so there was
no time lost before tumbling into bed. Eleanor
found it very hard to keep her eyes open until she
could hear Polly sleeping heavily. Then she crept
from the bed.
</p>
<p>
Downstairs was the print of a photograph taken
a few weeks before, of a group of Mrs. Wellington’s
scholars. Polly and herself were in this
group, and Eleanor planned to get it into the reporter’s
hands for reproduction to print a picture
of Polly in the morning’s paper.
</p>
<p>
She found the photograph without noise or
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127'></a>127</span>
trouble and then sat down before the telephone
stand in the corner of the living room. “I hope to
goodness no one upstairs will hear me talk,”
thought Eleanor to herself, as she gave the number
to Central.
</p>
<p>
“Hello—is this 10000 Greeley?
</p>
<p>
“Give me Mr. Dunlap, please.
</p>
<p>
“The lady who said she would call him about
the fire.
</p>
<p>
“No, you won’t do! I want Dunlap!
</p>
<p>
“He isn’t in? I don’t believe you! Get off the
wire!
</p>
<p>
“Hello—hello! H-e-l-lo! I want editor’s desk—10000
Greeley, and be quick about it!” snapped
Eleanor, feeling quite irritable because of the loss
of sleep, and the strange reporter’s laugh at her.
</p>
<p>
“Is this the night-editor?” now asked Eleanor,
eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“U—um! May I speak to Mr. Dunlap—the
reporter you assigned on the fire story uptown,
to-night?
</p>
<p>
“Oh—he isn’t in? Well, but he said he would
wait to take some important notes from me. I
can’t believe he is out.
</p>
<p>
“Well, then, you may be the night-editor, but
you sound exactly like that fresh reporter who
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128'></a>128</span>
spoke to me a moment ago. I cannot understand
why you employ such rude youths as he is.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor grinned to herself for she was quite
sure she was speaking to the same reporter who
answered the call, at first. An answering laugh
convinced her she was right, and she hissed
through the telephone: “If you knew who I was,
you wouldn’t keep me sitting in the cold like this.
Now you can either call Dunlap or I’ll give
my story to your enemy downtown. The reporters
of that paper are just dying to get my story.”
</p>
<p>
That proved miraculous. To prevent the downtown
competitor from getting the story, the unknown
was willing to turn it over to his opponent,
Dunlap.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor recognised Dunlap’s voice the moment
he took the ’phone, and she gave him some interesting
personal facts about Polly and herself, and
why they were now studying in New York. She
talked for half-an-hour, praising Polly and her
wonderful character, and finally began telling
about the escape from Grizzly Peak at the time
of the landslide. But Dunlap interrupted her
with:
</p>
<p>
“I can’t get all of that in—we go to press very
shortly.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129'></a>129</span>
</p>
<p>
“Oh, dear! Can’t you run over here and get
this photo of Polly, that I have ready for you?”
</p>
<p>
“For the morning edition?” gasped Dunlap.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, to accompany the story of the fire.”
</p>
<p>
“My dear young lady—do you know how long
it takes to make a plate for the paper?”
</p>
<p>
“A plate? I said ‘a photograph,’ Mr. Dunlap.”
</p>
<p>
“But we have to make a reproduction of yours,
then print it on a plate, then give it an acid bath,
then etch and rout, and mount—and it all takes
time before the plate is ready to be stereotyped
for the printing in the paper.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh! I thought you just took the picture and
copied it in the paper. Of course, I never stopped
to inquire into what process it went through. But
if you say you can’t use it, I’m sorry.”
</p>
<p>
“So’m I. But you might bring it in early in the
morning and I’ll see if there is enough interest in
the story to rake up an evening’s yarn.”
</p>
<p>
“Very well. I’ll do that.”
</p>
<p>
“Come in, anyway, and bring your friends. I’ll
show you through the engraving plant of the
paper. You’ll be interested.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you—good-by.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor hung up the receiver and listened intently
to hear if anyone was stirring upstairs. All
was quiet, so she placed the photograph back on
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130'></a>130</span>
the shelf and crept upstairs again. She jumped
into bed shivering, after being exposed so long to
the cold, downstairs. But utter weariness soon
brought her sleep and all was forgotten until
breakfast time.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Maynard, speaking, woke Eleanor. She
sat up and rubbed her eyes sleepily. “Thank
goodness, we do not have to go to school for a
whole week!” declared she, throwing a shoe at
Polly’s half-buried head.
</p>
<p>
“Polly! Pol-le—ee! Wake up!”
</p>
<p>
“Wha-foh?” grunted Polly, half-dazed.
</p>
<p>
Then both girls heard Mr. Maynard call: “I’ll
be right back to breakfast, Mrs. Stewart—I’m
going to the corner for the papers.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor suddenly remembered her share in the
telling of the story about the fire, and she jumped
out of bed. “I’m going to hurry down and read
what the paper says about the fire,” said she.
</p>
<p>
Polly turned over and stretched lazily. “I don’t
care what they say. I’m going to sleep all day.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor was annoyed. “No, you won’t! We’ve
got to keep a date with Mr. Fabian this noon, and
you’ve <em>got to</em> get up!”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, that’s so! Mr. Fabian is going to take us
to Grand Central Palace to show us how carpets
are made. I forgot that exhibition was to-day.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131'></a>131</span>
And Polly jumped up at that remembrance when
other things had failed to move her.
</p>
<p>
The girls were downstairs in time to open the
front door for Mr. Maynard. He was grinning
teasingly, as he tried to keep a great mass of
morning papers from slipping out from under his
arm. He held out an opened sheet for the girls
to see.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, what a horrid face! Who is it?” exclaimed
Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“The paper states it is you, my dear,” laughed
her father.
</p>
<p>
“What—never! Oh, what awful people these
newspaper men are! Dad, can’t you go down there
and horse-whip them? I never looked like that
in all my life!” and Eleanor stamped her foot in a
fury.
</p>
<p>
Polly had been gazing at the two faces printed
on the front sheet of the morning paper, but now
she laughed. “Oh, if I looked like that picture, I
could have put out the fire by merely turning my
face to it!”
</p>
<p>
Anne and her mother came in when they heard
Mr. Maynard’s loud laughter. They, too, stared
at the oval-framed pictures said to be “The two
heroines of the dreadful fire at Assembly Hall.”
</p>
<p>
“Anne, where under the sun did the newspapers
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132'></a>132</span>
get those two pictures?” asked Polly, tittering
every time she saw the ovals.
</p>
<p>
“Every newspaper has a department known
as the ‘morgue,’ or some such name. They
keep, filed away, pictures of every well-known person
in the world. In the package indexed under
the proper name, are one or two ‘cuts’ ready to use
in case of a hurry. Then when a person dies, or
is married, or something or other happens, the
newspaper rushes to its files and gets out the picture,
or cut, needed.
</p>
<p>
“It is the same with famous buildings, or ships,
or objects of any kind. If something comes up
that brings the thing to the public attention, there
the papers have the pictures all ready to print.
</p>
<p>
“Now they keep lots of photographs, just like
these two, which they buy from cheap photographers.
They buy a hundred in a job lot, and if
they want a picture and can’t secure a legitimate
one, or a snap-shot from the reporter’s kodak,
they use what they have on hand.
</p>
<p>
“It would be extremely amusing to be present
when these girls see their faces in the paper. It
will prove almost as funny as seeing you two girls
scorning these strange faces.”
</p>
<p>
But Mr. Maynard had been reading the article
while Anne had explained the methods of many
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133'></a>133</span>
newspapers, and now he exclaimed: “By jove!
Dalken never said a word about all this life-history!”
</p>
<p>
“What’s that, Daddy? Read it to us,” begged
Eleanor, eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“Why—wh-y-y—the young rascal hit it right on
the head, all right! But where did he get it?”
continued Mr. Maynard.
</p>
<p>
“For pity’s sake—read it aloud!” commanded
Eleanor, hardly able to hold her tongue about the
story.
</p>
<p>
Then Mr. Maynard read it, and it lost none of
its vivid coloring by his reading, either. When he
had almost concluded, Polly began to grow angry.
When he finished, she was furious.
</p>
<p>
“I’m going up to that office and I’ll fight that
reporter. He had no more right to print that than
those other men had to use someone else’s photographs
and call them ours. So there!”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Maynard had been thinking seriously, and
now he nailed Eleanor with a penetrating look.
“Nolla, did you tell that young rascal this story
when you ran to the door with his pencil and paper
last night?”
</p>
<p>
“No, indeed! I did not, Daddy! You can ask
the butler if I ever did! He stood right there
when I handed Dunlap the pencil!”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134'></a>134</span>
</p>
<p>
Eleanor’s denial was so emphatic that everyone
believed she was innocent of any such plot; so they
never found out who was the guilty one.
</p>
<p>
While at breakfast, the telephone rang. “This
is Mr. Latimer, Anne. We have just read the
papers and were so surprised! When we saw the
pictures of the two heroines, we feared some
dreadful thing had happened to distort their faces
so that we failed to recognise them, and I hastened
to inquire. Do you need Dr. Evans’ services to
straighten out those faces?”
</p>
<p>
An amused laugh could be heard over the wire,
and Anne laughed back. “No, thanks; a good
night’s rest has brought back their natural looks.
The faces in the paper must have been taken by
the flickering flame of the burning dwelling.”
</p>
<p>
“Jim and Ken came home late last night for the
Holiday. We wanted to congratulate you girls
on trying so hard for the Carnegie Medal, but
now Jim wants to say ‘good-morning.’”
</p>
<p>
In another moment, Jim’s voice was heard
speaking. “Oh, good-morning, Anne. Have you
used Pears Soap?” Then a gay laugh.
</p>
<p>
“We have, but you haven’t! Your father
just told me you got in at midnight, and if you’re
up as early as this, I’m sure the sleep hasn’t been
washed from your eyes,” retorted Anne.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135'></a>135</span>
</p>
<p>
Polly and Eleanor crowded close and hung over
the ’phone so they could hear what Jim had to say.
</p>
<p>
“I only wanted to say, I’ve got tickets for the
show, to-night, and the girls are not to go anywhere
else.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, tell him we’re out of town on a week-end
party,” Eleanor whispered, hurriedly to Anne.
</p>
<p>
“Are the tickets good for Eleanor’s father and
my mother, in case the girls go out of town?”
teased Anne.
</p>
<p>
“Say—you really don’t mean that?” Jim’s voice
sounded very sad.
</p>
<p>
“I cannot tell a lie—I am like George, you see,
and I’ll let the girls fib for themselves,” laughed
Anne, getting up from the stool and handing the
instrument to Polly.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, here, Nolla! You do it! You know I
don’t like this jiggery quivery thing!” cried Polly,
quickly placing the telephone apparatus on the
table and making room for Eleanor on the chair.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor was delighted to talk with Jim, and she
kept at it until a clicking in her ear notified her
that someone wanted to get them on the wire, so
she hurriedly rang Jim off.
</p>
<p>
“Hello!” called Eleanor to the next inquirer.
</p>
<p>
“Hello—1234 Madison Square?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136'></a>136</span>
</p>
<p>
“This is Mr. Ashby speaking. Is this one of
the heroines?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Mr. Ashby! Yes, it is Nolla. What do
you think of the story in the paper—and the funny
photographs?” laughed Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“I laughed myself sick over it at breakfast. My
wife and I wondered how that young rascal got
them, and James explained.”
</p>
<p>
Here Eleanor turned white, for she wondered
if the butler really had seen her wink at Dunlap.
“My, but I’m thankful I got at this wire instead
of Anne,” said she to herself.
</p>
<p>
“Two of our maids had their postal-card pictures
taken the other day, and upon rushing out
of the front door to watch the fire last night, they
laid them upon the hall table. James saw them
there, later, but thinking the girls would soon be
coming in to take them upstairs, he did nothing
about it.
</p>
<p>
“Then in the excitement of watching Miss Polly
climb the front of the house, and have the Chief
carry her over to our house, the pictures were completely
forgotten. As the young reporter went
out, James saw Miss Eleanor take his hat from
the stand and hand it to him. But nothing was
thought about the cards. Later, however, they
were gone.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137'></a>137</span>
</p>
<p>
“This morning the papers have the photographs
of Mary, the waitress, and Gladys, the upstairs
girl, as heroines of the fire. Maybe our
maids are not tickled to pieces to find themselves
so famous.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor heard both Mr. and Mrs. Ashby laughing
merrily over the mistake, and then she said:
“Do you suppose I handed the cards to Dunlap
when I picked up his papers and hat?”
</p>
<p>
“Undoubtedly. But the joke is, he thinks you
meant to do it very secretly, you see, so he never
mentioned it but hurried the work on the pictures
so as to have them in the morning’s paper. He
most likely believes that that was why you ran
after him—to manage to give him those two
photographs to use. I think the laugh is entirely
on him, don’t you, Eleanor?”
</p>
<p>
But Eleanor did not say. She sat and studied
the pattern in the rug for a time, refusing to answer
all the questions asked. Then she decided
that Mr. Ashby must have heard from Dunlap
that morning, and was told how she had added
many facts to Mr. Dalken’s story. But this funny
error of using the maid’s photographs, was retribution
on her head.
</p>
<p>
The young people, with Anne to chaperone
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138'></a>138</span>
them, enjoyed the play that night, and then the
boys outlined the programme they had made for
the week.
</p>
<p>
The next day, being Thanksgiving, the entire
party was to dine at the Latimers’. Then they
would go for an automobile drive, and in the evening
all would enjoy an impromptu supper and
dance at the Evans’.
</p>
<p>
Friday morning the boys would take the girls
skating at St. Nicholas Rink. They begged to
attend Mr. Fabian and the girls in the afternoon
at the Textile Exhibition, then dinner at the Studio,
and another play at night.
</p>
<p>
Saturday morning the girls were going to visit
Mr. Ashby’s famous decorating establishment, and
get a glimpse first-hand of what a modern decorator
must do and know to succeed. In the afternoon
the boys wanted to take in a matinee, but the
girls were invited to dinner at the Ashbys, and to
spend the evening with their daughter Ruth. So
Jim said nothing, but he instantly planned how
to meet the Ashbys.
</p>
<p>
“Now don’t go and make any more dates for
next week, without asking us, understand!” declared
Jim, when he heard that Saturday was
engaged and Sunday, partly so.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139'></a>139</span>
</p>
<p>
“How can we help it if our parents and chaperones
do it without our knowledge,” queried
Eleanor, innocently.
</p>
<p>
“Well, I’ll speak to them, then. Ken and I will
have to be off again next week; so for the few days
we have at home we want you girls to pass up all
other fun. You’ve got all the year for other beaux,
you know,” grumbled Jim.
</p>
<p>
Polly and Eleanor laughed. “Oh, yes,” said the
latter, “we just keep on the go continually, every
afternoon and evening, with a devoted swain each
day to replace the ones of the day before.”
</p>
<p>
“Where do you meet them?” demanded Jim,
jealously.
</p>
<p>
“We-ll—the first one Polly and I snared, we
‘picked up’ at an art sale. But we have many
opportunities to meet others, you know.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” added Polly, entering the joke, “at
night school, you know, there are loads of young
men; and at lectures and exhibitions—and everywhere.”
</p>
<p>
“Is that why you both are so crazy to go to
these dry lecture affairs?” jeered Kenneth, thinking
himself very clever, indeed.
</p>
<p>
But they failed to get the girls to break the engagement
with the Ashbys, and Jim barely managed,
through his father’s kind auspices, to meet
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140'></a>140</span>
Mr. Dalken Saturday morning, and thus open the
way to call on the Ashbys that evening.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Dalken was young in spirit if not in years,
and he enjoyed helping the two boys work out the
little plot so as to be present with Polly and Eleanor
at the Ashbys, that evening. But the boys
never knew that their benefactor passed up an
exciting game of chess at his club, that Saturday
night, in order to introduce them to his friends.
</p>
<p>
There were so many wonderful things to do
during that Holiday Week, that the girls could not
attend them all. Many of their school-friends
were eager to have them at teas and parties and
matinees, but all these had to be refused with
regrets. Eleanor remarked: “Wait for school
to open. We’ll be the most popular girls there.
In fact, every last girl will want to fag for us!”
</p>
<p>
“Why?” asked Polly, wonderingly.
</p>
<p>
“Because they think we are in such demand,
everywhere, that we can’t accept any invitations
of theirs. Don’t you suppose they have told each
other? Lots of those girls travel around together,
and they talk everything over. But I guess they
are wondering who takes us out so much, and what
society we travel in.” Eleanor laughed.
</p>
<p>
Polly looked at her with pity. “Nolla, sometimes
I feel <em>so</em> sorry for you! All your joy and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141'></a>141</span>
pleasure in having others act nice or kind to you,
is lost because of the education you’ve had in Bob’s
school. Now I don’t believe those girls ask us
just to cater to us because we are popular. I think
they really like us and would love to have us with
them. If I wasn’t so frightfully busy with school
at night, and other worth-while occupations, I’d
jaunt about with them.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor said nothing more, but she did a lot of
thinking.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142'></a>142</span><a name='chIX' id='chIX'></a>CHAPTER IX—POLLY’S MUSCLE</h2>
<p>
Mr. Maynard was delighted with Eleanor’s
evident improvement in health, and all fears of
the New York climate vanished entirely, before
he finished his visit in New York. He remained
a week and then said good-by, reminding Mrs.
Stewart that she had invited him for the Christmas
Holidays. They all laughed because he was
welcome, at all times, to remain as long as he
could.
</p>
<p>
Regular studies began again after the Thanksgiving
Holiday and, with the reopening of the
classes, the girls started in on a new line of art at
Cooper Union. Anne Stewart used to escort the
girls to and from the school on class-nights, but it
was such a tiresome trip for her to make, after a
hard day at school, and with lessons to go over
at home, that the girls insisted upon her staying
home.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian generally conducted them home
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143'></a>143</span>
after class, and then went on to his own rooms.
As it was hardly dark by seven-thirty, in October
and early November, it was no more hazardous
for the two girls to walk or ride down to the
Square than it would be in the daytime.
</p>
<p>
But the days were becoming so much shorter
after Thanksgiving, that it was quite dark by six
o’clock. Hence Anne worried about their going
downtown, alone, even though it was but a few
blocks.
</p>
<p>
The second week of class in December, found
Mr. Fabian absent. He had taken a severe cold
and thought better of risking his health in the bitter
wind and Scotch mist that night.
</p>
<p>
Polly and Eleanor did not speak of it to Anne,
as she, too, felt wretched that day; and they would
rather have stayed at home than have had her accompany
them to night school in her state of
health.
</p>
<p>
“You’re not to worry about us, Anne, if we do
not come in as early as usual,” said Eleanor, upon
opening the door to go out.
</p>
<p>
“Why—where will you be?” asked Anne, instantly.
</p>
<p>
“Exams. Some of the teachers are testing us
in all the work we did this last term, and we have
to write our answers. We may be a full hour later
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144'></a>144</span>
than usual; but we’ll come uptown, together,
so there’s nothing to worry about,” explained
Polly.
</p>
<p>
Anne thought she meant Mr. Fabian by “we-all”
but Polly meant several of the students who
lived a few blocks north of the Square.
</p>
<p>
Both girls were well bundled up in heavy storm
coats, mufflers, and close-fitting woollen caps
pulled down over their ears. Besides their books
and other materials, they had umbrellas to carry
but it was too windy to open them.
</p>
<p>
The examination questions proved to be most
interesting; and the answers required a great deal
of careful thought, before describing the various
types, methods and ideals of architecture and
decoration.
</p>
<p>
Polly described at large such questions as: “Can
you describe the different types that go to make
up the Egyptian people?” or the question: “How
does plant-life affect Egyptian ornament—sketch
two such plants.”
</p>
<p>
“What is a torus molding? Where is echinus
molding used? Sketch the cyma recta.”
</p>
<p>
When Polly found the questions: “Describe a
scarabæus,” and “Why did ancient Egyptians
prepare their dead as they did, and describe a
mummy and the methods used for its preservation,” she
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145'></a>145</span>
was elated, for she had made a particular
study of these subjects at the Metropolitan
Museum where the collection of Egyptian antiques
is unsurpassed.
</p>
<p>
There were many other interesting questions, all
of which Polly was eager to answer, but time was
too limited for her to say all she wished to. For
instance, she wanted to describe, at length, Greek
art and the Greek nation that was characteristic
for its own type of art and ornament.
</p>
<p>
She was anxious to tell what she knew about
color and its importance in art. Of polychromy
and what it was. In fact, she needed hours in
which to speak fully of the difference between
Greek, Egyptian and Assyrian art and ornament.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor on her part, wrote graphically of the
difference between the Arabs and Persians, and
how their modes and habits had a corresponding
effect on art. She liked to describe the style of
Romanesque art and how it governed all Eastern
Europe at one time.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor leaned to the Moorish classics and had
a weakness for Turkish designs; she loved the
warm coloring used by the Moors in their work,
and the harsh bright colors employed by the
Turks. She had no hesitation in selecting from
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146'></a>146</span>
samples shown, the Mohammedan designs, the
Chinese, the Byzantine, or Arabian patterns. She
was expert in stating why the fall of Rome affected
all art in Eastern and Western Europe, and what
was its highest development and its period of all
architecture.
</p>
<p>
It was more than an hour later than usual, when
the two girls put away their work and started out
for home. The scholars who lived on streets uptown,
had gone long before, and Polly and Eleanor
found that the high wind made it impossible for
them to open their umbrellas.
</p>
<p>
“It’s so icy we will have to use them as props,”
laughed Polly.
</p>
<p>
“My! But this sleet in one’s face is cold, isn’t
it?” gasped Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Let’s take a short cut across the Plaza,” suggested
Polly, breaking into a run across the diamond
that separates the streets at Third and
Fourth avenues, and Eighth street.
</p>
<p>
Having reached the small oasis about the subway
station, Eleanor said: “Why not take the
subway, here, to Twenty-eighth street, Poll?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, I hate those subways! This wonderful
sleet and the quiet hissing of the ice on the windows
and walks makes me feel as if I were home.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147'></a>147</span>
No clatter of wheels, no shouting of burly men, no
<em>nothing</em> that makes a city so horrid. Let’s walk
all the way home.”
</p>
<p>
“All right,” laughed Eleanor. “I’m game!”
</p>
<p>
So they started up Fourth avenue, past Wanamakers,
and were soon lost to their surroundings
in their discussion of the examinations.
</p>
<p>
“What answer did you give to the question
‘Tell the basis of religions existing with the Persians
and the Arabs: describe the differences,’
Polly?”
</p>
<p>
“I was not quite sure of that, Nolla, but I did
make a good thing of that question ‘Why did
Egyptians use bright colors in art?’ And also that
question that read: ‘When colors of the pattern
contrast with the colors of the back-ground, what
general rule must govern?’ You know, I just love
to ferret out these ideas.”
</p>
<p>
“So do I. But I never dreamed there was so
much wonderful knowledge to be obtained in a
course of this kind,” said Eleanor, holding her arm
before her face in order to speak distinctly.
</p>
<p>
They had now reached Eleventh street, and
were passing a saloon still brightly lighted, in spite
of Prohibition Laws. In the doorway lounged
three tough-looking young men; but the red-cheeked
girls scarcely saw them—they were too
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148'></a>148</span>
interested in their conversation. An empty auto
stood by the curb, but no other vehicle or person
was in sight.
</p>
<p>
When the girls came under the arc of light that
reflected from the globes in the saloon-window,
one of the flippant young men said, quite loud
enough for Polly and Eleanor to hear: “I say!
Ain’t them two goils peaches, though!”
</p>
<p>
His two companions laughed rudely, but the
girls hastened on without a word or look. Another
of the trio then said: “Betcha they’d be
glad of comp’ny. I’ll try it.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor whispered anxiously to Polly: “What
time do you think it is?”
</p>
<p>
“It was almost eleven when we stopped writing.
It must be nearly eleven-thirty now.”
</p>
<p>
“Pretty late for such a bad night. We’ll take
the subway at Fourteenth street, Polly.”
</p>
<p>
“Reckon we’d better. Are there no policemen
about these corners?”
</p>
<p>
“Not when you need one. On fine summer
nights you will see them strolling about, maybe.”
</p>
<p>
The girls tittered, but instantly hushed when
they heard voices directly behind them.
</p>
<p>
“Pretty evenin’ fer a walk, goils.”
</p>
<p>
No reply was vouchsafed to this remark but the
girls kept right on with their customary swift gait.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149'></a>149</span>
</p>
<p>
“Ain’t che hankerin’ fer comp’ny?” chuckled
another tough.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, come on back, fellers. What’s th’ use
foolin’ wid a coupla high-brows on such a nasty
night!” argued one of the three.
</p>
<p>
Polly and Eleanor fervently hoped they would
go back, but the other fellow replied: “G’wan
back, if yeh wants. Bill and me er goin’ to have
some fun. Come on, Bill.”
</p>
<p>
Polly now glanced at Eleanor and said in a low
tone: “Get a good grip on your umbrella. Thank
heavens we haven’t any books or papers to carry,
as we usually have.”
</p>
<p>
Then the fellow called Bill, said: “You amble
up to the peacherino on the outside, whiles I take
to the inside one, Andy.”
</p>
<p>
“There’s the boss’s car waiting fer nuttin. We
kin give them a ride—a joy ride fer us,” harshly
laughed Andy.
</p>
<p>
Bill joined in the suggestive laugh, and both
girls unconsciously hastened their steps.
</p>
<p>
“No hurry, my pretties. There ain’t a cop twixt
here an’ the saloon on Fourteenth street. Don’t
we’se know this districk? Ha-ha!”
</p>
<p>
“Ready for a fight, Nolla!” hissed Polly, suddenly
wheeling and facing the accosters.
</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150'></a>150</span></div>
<p>
Eleanor also turned, a second later, and both
men were taken by surprise. Polly’s eyes blazed
and she gave the roughs such a scornful look that
it should have withered them as they stood there.
</p>
<p>
“Now you two out-laws turn-about-face and
march downtown as fast as you know how!” commanded
she.
</p>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i003' id='i003'></a>
<img src="images/illus-150.jpg" alt="“NOW YOU TWO OUT-LAWS TURN-ABOUT-FACE AND MARCH!” COMMANDED POLLY." title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>“NOW YOU TWO OUT-LAWS TURN-ABOUT-FACE AND MARCH!” COMMANDED POLLY.</span>
</div>
<p>
“Ah, ha, Bill! I envy you your choice! She
turns out to be a regerler sport. See them eyes
shoot fire? Let me have a kiss, me pritty, afore
Bill gits them all!” As the fellow Andy spoke
insinuatingly, he stepped forward to take hold of
Polly.
</p>
<p>
At the same moment her umbrella swung back
over her head and the muscular young arm instantly
brought down the heavy metal knob upon
the soft cap that covered the head of the ruffian.
The blow was so unexpected, and forceful as well,
that it staggered Polly’s assailant.
</p>
<p>
Both men cursed fluently, then, and Bill threatened:
“Jus’ fer dat, you’se is goin’ to get what’s
comin’ to yeh!”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor wanted to turn and run, but she would
not have deserted Polly for all the world, so she
screamed “Help! Help!” with all her lung-power—and
she had plenty of it.
</p>
<p>
Bill hesitated to attack Eleanor as she yelled
and screamed for help, but Andy was raging and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151'></a>151</span>
tried to close in with Polly. The umbrella was
flung aside, and in another minute Polly launched
at his face with a closed fist. It struck him between
the eyes and caused a howl of pain.
</p>
<p>
Before he could collect himself, the daring girl
had struck him another fearful blow under the
chin. This sent him back flat upon his back, and
while he was trying to crawl up on his knees, the
amateur pugilist turned and sent a blow at Bill.
But he had stood gaping at the amazing encounter
with his pal, and he now dodged his own
undoing.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor saw her opportunity. She had no time
to lift her umbrella for a blow, and it had no solid
handle like Polly’s, but she fiercely rammed
the steel-capped end of the rod into the pit of
the rascal’s stomach, so that, instantly, he buckled
up. He sank down groaning while he struggled
to get his breath.
</p>
<p>
Andy was up on his feet again by this time, but
Bill was out of the fight, so both girls gave full
attention to the second villain. He fought now,
as slum ruffians will, but he was no match for the
hard knuckles, steel muscles and lithe movements,
of the Rocky Mountain maid who had grappled
with wild animals and had won out.
</p>
<p>
The groveling Bill now managed to reach out
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152'></a>152</span>
a hand, planning to catch Eleanor by the ankle
and trip her. But at that moment a silent-running
automobile slid up to the curb and, at the instant
of its stopping, the door flew open and a gentleman
leaped out. In his hand he pointed a revolver,
and Andy immediately threw up both hands.
</p>
<p>
“W-h-y—Mr. Dalken. Oh, thank goodness
you came!” cried Eleanor, trembling nervously.
</p>
<p>
The chauffeur was standing guard over Bill at
the same time, so Mr. Dalken asked frowningly:
“What are you girls doing down here at this hour?—all
alone, too!”
</p>
<p>
By this time the truant officer ran over to the
group and wanted to know what was wrong. Mr.
Dalken turned on him in just anger. “Wrong—why,
you were not on the beat! That’s what’s
wrong.”
</p>
<p>
“But I was—I got a beat bigger than any Fift’
avenoo cop what only has to parade in front of a
swell’s house.”
</p>
<p>
“You needn’t try to bull-doze me, my man. Evidently
you fail to recognise me, but we will talk
this over at the City Hall, in the morning. Now
arrest these two foot-pads.” As the officer
snapped hand-cuffs on his prisoners, Dalken
added, “By the way, why is a saloon open at this
hour—to sell soft drinks?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153'></a>153</span>
</p>
<p>
The scorn in Mr. Dalken’s tone silenced the
policeman. “Now, girls, jump into the car and I
will take you home,” offered their rescuer. But
the officer interfered when they would have
stepped inside the car.
</p>
<p>
“Your names, please, and addresses. And how
do I know that you will take these young ladies to
their home?” The tone of the man was insulting.
</p>
<p>
“If it were not for the fact that I want to hurry
these children to their family as quickly as possible,
I’d take the keenest pleasure in answering
you in a manner that you’d understand and respect.
Now you go about your tardy business and I will
see to mine. Here’s my card. The girls do not
appear in this matter at all. I am the man who
caused the ruffians’ arrest, and I will answer in
Court.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Dalken followed the girls into the car and
the driver instantly shot away; in a short time the
car stopped in front of the Studio. As Polly and
Eleanor gratefully took Mr. Dalken’s hand, he
advised them. “Better not speak of this affair to
anyone—leave it to me to settle. But, hereafter,
do not dream of going about so late at night, unattended.
One never can tell!”
</p>
<p>
“But we can’t expect Anne to trot about with us
when she is tired out at night,” explained Eleanor.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154'></a>154</span>
</p>
<p>
“Then use my car on the nights you have to go
to school. I’ll send down my Sedan, after this,
because the butler understands its tricks thoroughly.
He seldom has anything to do on
those evenings you go to school, and he can oblige
us by driving that car should I need Henri for this
car.”
</p>
<p>
The girls thanked him again, and then hurried
indoors.
</p>
<p>
“Where <em>have</em> you been so late, dears?” cried
Anne, anxiously, as they came in.
</p>
<p>
“We told you we would be late,” began Polly.
</p>
<p>
“But it is past twelve, now; I was about to call
up the police-station at Ninth street, and find out
if anything had happened.”
</p>
<p>
The two girls laughed and Eleanor pulled
Anne’s ear playfully, as she said: “Now, silly,
what could happen to us!”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155'></a>155</span><a name='chX' id='chX'></a>CHAPTER X—CHRISTMAS AND WHAT IT BROUGHT</h2>
<p>
Anne never suspected that Polly and Eleanor
had had a “hold-up” at any time, but she wondered
why Mr. Dalken should be so kind as to
loan his car to the girls on school-nights. Polly
explained simply. “Why, he never forgot what
we did for Elizabeth, and when he learned we
were trudging back and forth alone, he just
wouldn’t have it.”
</p>
<p>
“He said he couldn’t bear the thought of our
even having to travel in the subway, alone, late at
night,” added Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
So Anne, although she read about the two ruffians
who had tried to rob a wealthy broker, one
night, never dreamed that <em>her</em> two girls were victimized
before Mr. Dalken appeared to rescue
them.
</p>
<p>
Madam Wellington’s school prospered splendidly
from the publicity given it in the papers
directly after the fire. And later, when it was
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156'></a>156</span>
learned that Mr. Ashby, Mr. Dalken, and two
other wealthy men had purchased the corner which
had always been disfigured by the old four-story
amusement hall, and proposed erecting a twelve-story
high-class apartment house on the land, the
mention of the fire and the bravery of the Wellington
School girls again appeared in the papers.
</p>
<p>
Letters between Pebbly Pit and New York
passed twice a week, and the last news from home
was: “How we should love to have you spend
Christmas with us, Polly dearest. It will not seem
like a real Christmas with both my children away
from home.”
</p>
<p>
The letter made Polly feel home-sick and she
wrote to her mother immediately, saying: “I feel
that I shall have to come home even if it takes a
month out of school and delays me in my art
studies, unless you can plan some other way that
we might see each other this Christmas.”
</p>
<p>
Polly had a very clever plan that suddenly came
to her, as she read her mother’s words, and her
reply was the first step in working out her plan
successfully.
</p>
<p>
The second step was to go downtown and call
upon Mr. Latimer at his office. She was welcomed
there and asked what good wind blew her
downtown.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157'></a>157</span>
</p>
<p>
Polly laughed. “It’s a blizzard from the
Rockies—that is why I’m here.” Then she told
him about her mother’s home-sick words. “And
this is what we must do, Mr. Latimer, or I’ll have
to leave school and go back home.”
</p>
<p>
“Dear me, I will do anything rather than lose
you from New York, Polly,” Mr. Latimer laughingly
replied.
</p>
<p>
“You must find some excuse on the mining or
jewel business, that needs Daddy’s personal presence
here in New York. Make it necessary for
him to be here just before, or after Christmas.
Then I will write and let them know that you told
me about it, and insist upon having mother come
East with father, for her Christmas. Why, even
John and Paul might join us here without much
expense or trouble.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Latimer smiled. “There is no harm in
trying the plan, even if your father <em>won’t</em> leave
his ranch while it is under six feet of snow.”
</p>
<p>
Polly laughed at that. “Exactly! Dad doesn’t
have to stick there in winter-time, any more than
I do. Especially with Jeb on hand to take care
of everything.”
</p>
<p>
Then remembering a warning, she said: “But
you’ve got to find a real worthy reason for his
coming East, because I know my Dad!”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158'></a>158</span>
</p>
<p>
“I’ll have you approve the reason before I send
it West—how will that do?”
</p>
<p>
“I think you will do well. Because I may be
able to make a suggestion—knowing my father as
I do.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Latimer laughed and patted Polly on the
head. “Well, now that that is settled, let us talk
about Jim and Ken. You know, do you not, that
we expect them home in a few days?”
</p>
<p>
“I didn’t know, but I took for granted that they
would soon be home for the Holidays. Although
it seems like yesterday that they were home for
Thanksgiving Week.”
</p>
<p>
“Not to Jim’s mother and me. We miss him
very much, as he always was such a lively boy at
home.”
</p>
<p>
“I’m afraid we won’t see much of him this time.
He never even called us on the ’phone when he
came from New Haven to see Ruth Ashby, two
weeks ago Sunday,” said Polly, never dreaming
that his father was ignorant of the visit.
</p>
<p>
“He didn’t! Then Ken should have called
on you. He did not come to see a girl, too, did
he?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Ken never knew Jim was coming—so
Ruth told us. Jim telephoned her early Sunday
morning and found she would be home, so he ran
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159'></a>159</span>
in Town on the noon train and stayed until the
nine o’clock.”
</p>
<p>
“I’ll see that Jim does not go back on his first
loves quite so suddenly,” laughed Mr. Latimer,
thinking of the teasing he would give Jim.
</p>
<p>
“But we are not ‘loves’ at all—Nolla and I are
only good pals for the boys,” corrected Polly,
anxiously.
</p>
<p>
“Whatever you call it, Jim ought to be well
advised on such matters, as long as legal advice
costs him nothing.”
</p>
<p>
Polly failed to follow Mr. Latimer, and he immediately
changed the subject. “Now that you
are here and it is lunch-hour, why not come with
me. I promised to take you to the Café Savarin
or the Lawyer’s Club, some day, and this is the
day.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, it would be lovely, but I just couldn’t leave
Nolla out of the treat, you know!” exclaimed
Polly, eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“If Nolla is at home, we will have her down in
twenty minutes. We’ll wait for her, and meanwhile
I’ll dictate a letter to your father for you
to O.K.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor was moping around the house, wondering
where Polly could be, when the telephone rang
and she was invited to join her friends at luncheon.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160'></a>160</span>
So in less than half-an-hour the trio were having a
merry time in the sumptuous private restaurant
on lower Broadway.
</p>
<p>
The letter that Polly approved, reached Sam
Brewster, and he showed it to his wife. “Ah have
been thinking, dear, that we-all might surprise
Polly by dropping in on her just about Christmas
time, eh?”
</p>
<p>
“Rather than let her come West and lose all
that time from classes, I should say ‘yes,’ Sam.”
</p>
<p>
“We really have nothing to tie us down at the
ranch for a few weeks, unless the snow buries us
for the winter.”
</p>
<p>
“Sary would be in her glory could she keep
house alone with Jeb for a time. Ever since they
returned from their honeymoon in Denver, she
has been sighing to run the house,” said Mrs.
Brewster, “feeding the fire” carefully.
</p>
<p>
“Let’s go! By the Great Horned Spoon, I feel
like taking a vacation to some other part of the
world—so New York will do!”
</p>
<p>
Then it was quickly decided that they would
start on Monday, and this being Friday, there was
no time to lose.
</p>
<p>
Sary and Jeb accepted the amazing news with
smiles and exchange of knowing looks. But they
were relieved when Mrs. Brewster herself suggested
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161'></a>161</span>
to Sary: “Have all the good times you
want, Sary, while we are gone. Invite your
friends, and neighbors, if they can get through the
drifts, and have apple-parties, corn-poppers, Virginia
Reels, and anything on earth you like!”
</p>
<p>
“Would you-all keer if we-all ast as much as
twenty to a time?” asked Sary, fearfully.
</p>
<p>
“Ask forty, if you like—and if you can find
them,” laughed Mrs. Brewster, recklessly.
</p>
<p>
“Only see to it that they leave the roof, Sary,”
ha-hawed Sam Brewster. “And that the sky-larkin’
is all over when we return.”
</p>
<p>
Sary nodded understandingly. She had instantly
planned how to create envy in the souls of
her old friends at Yellow Jacket Pass, by asking
them all to her parties.
</p>
<p>
The Brewsters sent John a wire to say that they
would spend a few hours in Chicago, and would
like him to keep that time open. But when they
reached Chicago, John was standing on the platform
holding a suit-case in his hand. Tom Latimer
and Paul Stewart stood beside him.
</p>
<p>
John explained: “Paul and Tom are going,
too. Some good fairy sent us round-trip tickets,
but we don’t know who it was. Not a line came
with the tickets. So here we are—ready to help
in the surprise.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162'></a>162</span>
</p>
<p>
John then introduced Paul, and Mrs. Brewster
took his hand as she looked into his face. “You
are the image of our Anne, Paul; I would have
known you anywhere.”
</p>
<p>
“That he is,” added Sam Brewster, shaking
Paul’s hand heartily. So the party of five continued
on the journey, smiling as they pictured the
glad surprise to be given the family at the Studio.
Little did they dream that the Studio family were
busy preparing for a gladsome Christmas for them
all. For Mr. Latimer had told them about the
telegram from Pebbly Pit, and that he had heard
from Tom that he and John and Paul were going
to join the party coming East. But he did not say
that he, incognito, had mailed the tickets.
</p>
<p>
The Twentieth Century had a long line of Pullmans
to take to New York that trip, and it was
small wonder that passengers having berths in the
last coach, should fail to meet anyone traveling
in the first one. So it was with speechless amazement,
that the Brewsters met the Maynards at
Grand Central Station when both parties were
waiting to get taxi-cabs.
</p>
<p>
“Well, well, Ah believe it’s Mr. Maynard!”
exclaimed Sam Brewster, in his deep western
thunder.
</p>
<p>
“Brewster? so it is! Indeed I am glad to see
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163'></a>163</span>
you here. Come to cheer up the little girl, eh?”
and Eleanor’s father grasped the ranchman’s big
hands.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Brewster and her two young male companions
(Tom had gone to telephone) were now
introduced to Barbara and Mrs. Maynard. The
latter had never met the Brewster family, and
Barbara, thinking it wiser to assume indifference,
smiled coldly.
</p>
<p>
“We’re stopping at the Park Hotel, Brewster—what
about you folks? Might as well go where
we do,” suggested Mr. Maynard.
</p>
<p>
“I wired there for accommodations; Polly mentioned
it in several of her letters as being quite
near the Studio.”
</p>
<p>
“Fine! Then we will go right along. Here
Taxi! eight of us and baggage.”
</p>
<p>
“You mean seven, Mr. Maynard?” ventured
John, politely.
</p>
<p>
“No—didn’t you know Pete was here with us?
He came on another coach with some chums who
were coming East.”
</p>
<p>
“I haven’t seen much of Pete, this term. I’ve
been cramming every moment, so as to finish and
be ready to help in the mine, you see,” explained
John, hesitatingly.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Maynard saw the expression and said nothing, but
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164'></a>164</span>
he determined to find out why Pete had
not seen much of Paul and John and Tom, that
term. Three young men who could be of great
advantage to a wild young student should be cultivated,
he thought.
</p>
<p>
When Sam Brewster did anything, he never did
it by halves; consequently when he wired the Park
Hotel for rooms, the day he left Denver, he engaged
a whole suite. No better accommodations
than he had, were to be found in the building, and
the Maynards had to accept second-best.
</p>
<p>
When Mr. Maynard found the ranchman had
the very finest the hotel afforded, he chuckled delightedly
to himself, for he had silently watched
the manner in which Barbara received the greetings
of the people who were so kind to her that
Summer.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Maynard was furious with her husband.
“My dear! what possessed you to come to this
horrid place. Don’t you know that Bob’s position
must be catered to? Even the best hotels here are
rather too ordinary. She should be stopping at
the newest and most exclusive one uptown.”
</p>
<p>
“When she marries that little numb-skull you’ve
tagged to her skirts, she can stop where she likes.
But her Dad is running this show. I’m here to
visit Nolla, and I stop where I can call and see
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165'></a>165</span>
her, or she can run in to see us, without wasting
time traveling on the streets.”
</p>
<p>
“You always did spoil Nolla—while poor Bob
has to take third place in your affections,” complained
Mrs. Maynard.
</p>
<p>
“Bob’s mother makes up for any lack in me.
That’s why I have to give double love to Nolla
and Pete—Bob has <em>all</em> of yours.”
</p>
<p>
The usual ending to similar scenes might have
resulted, had not Mr. Maynard gone out to hurry
over to the Studio. But his wife and Barbara
sulkily unpacked their trunks and made very fine
toilets before they thought of calling at the Studio.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Maynard rang at the front door of the
Studio, but he had to wait a few moments before
the door opened. From within, merry laughter
and joyous shouting could be heard. Then in
another moment, Eleanor was in her father’s arms
and was dragging him into the happy circle.
</p>
<p>
The Brewsters, and Paul and Pete were already
there, so that the newcomer’s appearance added
another reason for Polly and Eleanor’s happiness.
</p>
<p>
“I haven’t enough china to go around for such
a family!” Mrs. Stewart said plaintively; as she
came into the room with her arms dusted with
flour.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166'></a>166</span>
</p>
<p>
“And only half of us here, too!” laughed Mr.
Maynard.
</p>
<p>
“What—more on the way?” exclaimed Anne.
</p>
<p>
“Nolla’s mother and Bob will be, shortly.”
</p>
<p>
“Mother—and Bob!” cried Eleanor, eagerly,
happy that her mother and sister cared enough
for her to come and visit her.
</p>
<p>
“Now that adds to all my troubles,” Mrs.
Stewart declared as she dropped into a nearby
chair.
</p>
<p>
“But why—the more the merrier,” laughed
Mrs. Brewster.
</p>
<p>
“Why—because there are only seven straight
chairs in this stable. All the others are great
cushiony things that won’t do in a small dining-room
such as ours.”
</p>
<p>
“Motherkins!” said Paul, laughingly picking
his mother up and seating her upon his strong
knees, “Did her think we-all would permit her to
cook a great supper for such a mob?”
</p>
<p>
“Of course—I like it, dear, but I am staggered
at the limitations—china and chairs.”
</p>
<p>
“Mrs. Stewart, we are not going to eat a crumb
in this house during the Holidays, unless it be a
theatre supper or afternoon tea! That is all settled
beforehand. Run upstairs and put on your
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167'></a>167</span>
evening dress. We propose making a party of it
this first night,” called Mr. Maynard, trying to
make himself heard above the general din.
</p>
<p>
“Is it your party, Dad?” asked Eleanor, gayly.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, and to please Bob it is to be at the Ritz.
To-morrow it will be Brewster’s turn, and that’s
up to him to say where we go.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Daddy—I know a place!” exclaimed
Polly, eagerly. “Eleanor and I have never been,
but we’ve heard lots about it and this is the chance.
We’ll all go down to Chinatown, to-morrow!”
</p>
<p>
A wild chorus of laughter greeted this proposal,
and Polly looked surprised. To make matters
worse, she added explanatorily: “Why, the girls
say chop-suey is great! And at Christmas time
the Chinks’ stores are beautiful! The lovely
things one can buy then are the best that are imported
from the Orient.”
</p>
<p>
“We’ll do Chinatown, thoroughly, Poll, but it
may not be to-morrow night,” promised John, who
had hitherto been completely engaged with Anne’s
whispers and looks.
</p>
<p>
Thereafter followed delight upon delight, each
day filled with new plans and exciting fulfillments.
Ken and his parents, the four Latimers, the Ashbys,
Mr. Fabian, and even Mr. Dalken, were included
in the gay whirl of these pleasure-seekers.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168'></a>168</span>
Mrs. Maynard and Barbara actually enjoyed the
wholesome fun and almost forgot to be affected
or snobbish. To associate intimately with Mr.
Dalken, whose social standing was well-known in
Chicago, as well as in other large cities, was excuse
enough to accept all the other friends. But
added to that pleasure, the friendship and evident
intimacy the Ashbys and Latimers entertained
for Polly and Eleanor, made Mrs. Maynard feel
there might be hope for Nolla in the future.
</p>
<p>
Christmas fell on the Thursday after the Westerners
had arrived in New York; and considering
all the fun and gadding that had been indulged
in, on the days preceding the twenty-fifth, that day
passed quietly for all. Each family enjoyed its
own gathering and gifts, and all assembled at the
Ashbys in the evening, to enjoy music and dancing,
and everyone declared it had been a fine
day!
</p>
<p>
Friday started anew the excitement of planning
and enjoying whatever came in the way of the
party. But Saturday night had been set aside for
Mr. Dalken’s Christmas party. Elizabeth was invited
to bring her friends, and everyone in Polly’s
and Eleanor’s friendship ring were included.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Dalken lived in modest but very large
rooms of a bachelor apartment house, downtown,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169'></a>169</span>
and here he had an enormous tree fixed in the
center of the living-room. No one was allowed
to see that room until all had assembled, but when
the doors were opened, there were “ahs” and
“ohs” from everyone.
</p>
<p>
The tree was so beautifully trimmed that it
seemed a pity that it should ever be dismantled.
But soon, the attractive white packages tied with
red ribbons, filled the guests with curiosity; and
once Eleanor had peeped at the name written on
one box, there was no peace but her host must
distribute the gifts.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Dalken never spared time or money when
he did anything for his friends, and his Christmas
Party was to be one all would remember. The
gifts were carefully selected for each individual
and those for the four girls—Elizabeth, Ruth
Ashby, Polly and Eleanor, were exquisite and
costly. Elizabeth had craved a ring. She had it.
Ruth, Polly, and Eleanor each had a long barpin
of platinum daintily jewelled.
</p>
<p>
With her usual impetuosity, Eleanor suddenly
sprang up and hugged Mr. Dalken gratefully for
her gift. Polly smiled and shyly shook hands,
while Ruth said he must have read her thoughts,
for she had asked Dad for a pin and had been
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170'></a>170</span>
refused. Now she had it, anyway, and from her
second-best Dad. Elizabeth was pleased, too, but
merely murmured “Thanks, Papa.”
</p>
<p>
“How do you like the jewels in the pins, girls?”
asked Mr. Latimer, quizzically, as no one had
mentioned the gems.
</p>
<p>
Suddenly Polly looked up at him. She caught
the twinkle in his eyes, and instantly wheeled to
look at the other men. Each one was smiling as
if there was a fine secret here.
</p>
<p>
“I just know these are Rainbow Cliff jewels!”
exclaimed Polly, joyously.
</p>
<p>
“No—are they?” demanded Eleanor, holding
the pin aloft to let the light flash over and through
them.
</p>
<p>
“Now I am deeply offended! I want the girls
to see that I got the very best and finest stones in
New York, and someone dares suggest that they
may be lava!” grumbled Mr. Dalken, trying to be
peevish.
</p>
<p>
“I can find out by taking mine to Tiffany’s, to-morrow,”
said Ruth, wisely.
</p>
<p>
“No, you won’t—Tiffany says his store is to be
closed all day to-morrow,” laughed Mr. Ashby.
</p>
<p>
“Why—some one in his family dead?” asked
Elizabeth.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171'></a>171</span>
</p>
<p>
“No—but it is Sunday, and he is a church
member.”
</p>
<p>
Every one laughed, as it had been forgotten the
Sabbath was so near at hand. Then Eleanor had
an idea.
</p>
<p>
“Why wait for Tiffany? Maybe the box will
give us a clue.” So she found her box and examined
it. Inside the silk-padded lid were the
words in gold ink: “Rainbow Cliffs’ Jewel Company.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, oh! It is our lava! Polly, now you can
carry a little of Pebbly Pit about with you!” cried
Eleanor, dancing about.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, it is a bit of Polly’s own dear heath.
These are the very first jewels the company perfected.
And as I am one of the corporation, I
wheedled the cutter into giving me his first output.
So, girls, you not only have pretty pins, but also
you have what may be considered a curiosity,”
explained Mr. Dalken.
</p>
<p>
“Are you one of our company?” Polly asked,
eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, Mr. Ashby and I took stock soon after
the fire, because we said this was going to be a big
thing, some day.”
</p>
<p>
“I’m so <em>glad</em>, Mr. Dalken,” said Polly simply,
and in a voice that only he could hear. “I like
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172'></a>172</span>
you <em>so</em> much, and I’m happy to know that you and
I are members, together, in something.”
</p>
<p>
“Polly, dear, that is the very best Christmas
gift I have had in years,” murmured Mr. Dalken,
feelingly.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173'></a>173</span><a name='chXI' id='chXI'></a>CHAPTER XI—THE VALENTINES</h2>
<p>
With the passing of this gay Holiday Season,
the two girls began to feel that it would be a relief
to sit down once more and spend a quiet evening
at school. Two weeks of constant going and dissipation
had become tiresome.
</p>
<p>
The Westerners had gone home again; John,
Tom, Paul and Pete back to Chicago, and the two
boys, Ken and Jim, back at Yale; and then Mrs.
Wellington’s school reopened. Lessons went on
as if there never had been a vacation, and on
Wednesday evening of that same week, the art
school resumed classes.
</p>
<p>
This term was to be devoted to Applied Design
and its uses in architecture and decorations of interiors.
After having had such interesting work
as Egyptian ornament, art, and symbols, it seemed
rather dry to start out the New Year with drawing
straight lines an inch long.
</p>
<p>
Then to draw a dozen of these lines—next to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174'></a>174</span>
connect them and make a design of these dozen
simple lines. But the next lesson was still more
foolish. They were told to draw a square. Then
this large square of twenty inches each side was
divided into smaller squares. And in each of
these squares the pupils were told to draw whatever
they liked, but each square must repeat the
first one figure designed.
</p>
<p>
Thus the scholars found that they had a pattern
of the design. This began to look more
promising, and Eleanor wished she had paid more
attention to the squares so that the design would
have been neater.
</p>
<p>
The next lesson was on grouping certain designs.
The talk given by Mr. Fabian that evening
was on eye-measurement and judgment in lines.
</p>
<p>
“Unless one has a good eye for lines in anything,
it is a waste of time to study a profession
that is based fundamentally on a true judgment of
lines—whether of beauty, grace, or usefulness.
Unless one has a true sense of ‘line’ one can never
know where to build a window, a door, or a fire-place.
</p>
<p>
“Not only does ‘line’ govern the size of rooms
and halls, but the entire building is dependent upon
true lines. Also, this basis line governs furniture
and decorations in an interior.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175'></a>175</span>
</p>
<p>
“Can you picture a room where the portières
are all of different lengths?—because the decorator
had no sense of ‘line value?’ And what
would one say if the chairs had legs of various
lengths? Is not ‘line value’ to be used here, too?
It is found necessary, everywhere.”
</p>
<p>
So the lessons and lectures continued until the
girls took up the study of colors. This was very
interesting, and soon, both Polly and Eleanor
knew that yellow, blue and red were primary
colors and they could glibly tell you what that
meant, and how important a part the knowledge
played, in the progressive art of decorating.
</p>
<p>
When the demonstration of these lessons began
in the painting, the girls realized that they were
actually going to be able to carry home samples
of their work. From that time on, they showed
more zeal in doing everything as correctly and
perfectly as possible. And Mr. Fabian, at his
next monthly report to Mr. Ashby (which were
quite unknown to Polly and Eleanor) said:
“They’re deeply interested in the actual art and
not merely for the fun of some day going into
business.”
</p>
<p>
“I am glad to hear it. There is so much of this
idea of taking up interior decorating because it is
comparatively a new field, but so few really ought
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176'></a>176</span>
to be in it. It should be made a matter of diplomas
the same as other professions. Then the
restriction would soon clear away all the quacks
in the art. If these two girls but escape the snares
of matrimony until they are finished artists, I shall
be rejoiced to welcome them to our fold.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian nodded approvingly, and murmured:
“I have faith in them. I’m sure that
both these girls are sensible and not to be easily
influenced by a good looking beau.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Ashby smiled. “They’re much safer in
New York than if they lived in smaller towns.
Girls in this city haven’t time to find beaux or
think of husbands.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t be so sure, Mr. Ashby,” retorted Mr.
Fabian. “If the girls are as pretty as my two
are, and clever and rich as well, they’d find it hard
to escape.”
</p>
<p>
“But you are speaking of society girls, while
these two students seldom give that empty life a
thought—I’m glad to say.”
</p>
<p>
Which conversation goes to show that more
than one adult was watching the experiment these
two girls were unconsciously making of their
school days, with intense interest and a desire to
aid.
</p>
<p>
Polly and Eleanor were not aware of all that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177'></a>177</span>
had been done to insure them perfect freedom and
liberty to continue their art classes. Had they
known the arguments Mr. Latimer had had with
Jim and Ken to keep those boys from usurping so
much of the time the girls had to devote to study!
Then Jim had blustered and boasted of all he
would do once he was at college: His father
wouldn’t know how many letters he would write,
nor the visits to the girls, of an evening!
</p>
<p>
And one reason Tom Latimer and John seldom
wrote to Polly and Eleanor, was because of Anne’s
suggestion—to leave the girls to plan their spare
time for their very own work, and not be made
to feel that they had letters to answer, all the time.
</p>
<p>
It was Tom who had begged Jim not to waste
his own, or the girls’ time, in writing silly letters
or in traveling back and forth from college to New
York. And Tom, wise big brother that he was,
took Jim into his confidence and explained how
anxious John and he were to have Polly climb to
the top of the ladder in her art. That she had to
make good in New York those first two years or
go back home and starve her artistic soul on a
lonesome ranch.
</p>
<p>
But Valentine’s Day was coming, and Jim felt
that on that day he would be privileged to not only
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178'></a>178</span>
write to the girls, but to send each one a fine valentine,
describing his sentiments.
</p>
<p>
Polly and Eleanor could not forget Valentine’s
Day was at hand, for every shop-window they
passed invited sentimental people to step in and
see the love cards.
</p>
<p>
“I’d like to send a perfect dear to Mr. Dalken,
Nolla,” said Polly, reading the verse on a card.
</p>
<p>
“To Mr. Dalken! Why, Poll, he is an old
married man!”
</p>
<p>
“But what of that! Can’t I send him a card
that states how much I like him?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, ye-es—I suppose so; but valentines are
really meant for lovers, you see.”
</p>
<p>
“It’s nothing of the kind, Nolla. Dear old St.
Valentine never meant all his notes for lovers; but
for everyone he <em>loved!</em> and that is very different,
I think.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, send yours to anyone you like, but I am
going to buy one for Jim,” said Eleanor, searching
over the piles of cards on the tray, but not
finding what she sought.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Nolla,” laughed Polly, teasingly. “Are
you selecting Jim for your first love?”
</p>
<p>
“First love! I should say double no! I am
hunting for a <em>comic</em> one for him—just because he
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179'></a>179</span>
is so sentimental and sits with moony eyes when he
is near any pretty girl. I thought I would die
with laughter that night he sat and gazed with
soulful eyes at Ruth.”
</p>
<p>
Finally the girls found several very funny cards
which had sarcastic lines under the pictures. These
they were going to mail to Jim and Ken. Then
Eleanor had an idea.
</p>
<p>
“I just guess I’ll mail one each to John, Tom,
Pete and Paul, too. If I dared, I’d get Pete to
re-mail one to Bob so she wouldn’t know who sent
it. Being postmarked ‘Chicago’ she’d break her
head trying to think who sent it to her.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, that will be fun, Nolla. Have them remailed
so the boys won’t know we sent them. Let’s
do that with all of ours.”
</p>
<p>
The need of secrecy, and the trouble of selecting
appropriate lines for each of their friends,
took time. But Eleanor wired her father to keep
the secret and do the mailing for them, and he
wired back his consent. So the valentines meant
for the Chicago friends went to Mr. Maynard,
and duly reached each one as had been intended.
</p>
<p>
And those for Jim and Ken were handed to a
porter on the train that ran to New Haven, with a
liberal tip if he would drop them in a letter-box
when he jumped from the train. His wide grin
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180'></a>180</span>
showed he was ready to abet the pranks such generous
pretty young misses planned to tease their
beaux.
</p>
<p>
Elizabeth Dalken had taken a violent fancy to
Jim Latimer when she met him at the different
Christmas parties, and Valentine’s Day being an
opportunity for love-lorn misses and youths, she
bought a very expensive Valentine, with sentiment
as soft as down, and suggestive of heart-aches and
sighs and what-not.
</p>
<p>
But Elizabeth had no independence, whatever,
and once she had the Valentine boxed and ready
to post, she wished she knew someone who would
address it. She feared to have her own cramped
writing seen on it.
</p>
<p>
In Mrs. Wellington’s school was a clever girl
who could imitate hand-writing to perfection, and
Elizabeth presented her with a box of bon-bons a
few days before Valentine’s Day. Then the following
day she asked a favor. Would Myrtle address
a box for her?
</p>
<p>
Myrtle comprehended, but the candies had been
delicious so she laughed: “Got a valentine to
send?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, but it is a joke. I want the receiver to
believe Eleanor Maynard sent it. Can you imitate
her writing?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181'></a>181</span>
</p>
<p>
“Easy as pie. Get me her exercise from this
noon’s class.”
</p>
<p>
And in short order the box was addressed in
Eleanor’s hand-writing. Elizabeth mailed it, and
the day following the 14th, Jim mailed, what he
considered, a lover’s work of art—such ardent
lines and such sentiment seldom entered his
thoughts, but the mushy words of the valentine
excused his letter.
</p>
<p>
“W-e-ll—Jim’s gone clean mad!” gasped
Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Is the thick letter from him?” asked Polly.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, but read it, Poll, and tell me what ails
him.”
</p>
<p>
Polly read, but not without giggles and many a
lifted eyebrow when she came to the extra fine
phrases of love-making.
</p>
<p>
“Nolla, he sure is daffy. Can you see through
it?”
</p>
<p>
“Not at all. I expected a comic from him—not
this.”
</p>
<p>
“Nolla, do you think anyone we know would
send him a soft valentine and pretend it came from
you?”
</p>
<p>
“Maybe—for a joke! Now who would do it?”
</p>
<p>
They asked Anne, and showed her the letter.
She laughed with them, but when they were not
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182'></a>182</span>
present, she sat down and wrote to Jim—a nice
sisterly letter cuttingly blunt that told him that she
had her hands full with school and girls, and
house, so that any extra care would drive her insane.
Letters such as the one that came to Nolla,
were the worst danger she had to ward off from
the girls.
</p>
<p>
By the last mail on the thirteenth and during the
day of the fourteenth other valentines came for
Polly and Eleanor; some of real merit as tokens
of friendship; some of beauty; and many with a
little line of love. But Polly received no vague or
sentimental one during Valentine’s day.
</p>
<p>
That evening, however, the bell rang, and Mrs.
Stewart asked who was there. The girls were
already upstairs.
</p>
<p>
“Messenger with a box.”
</p>
<p>
“Mother—wait till I get there!” called Anne,
anxiously.
</p>
<p>
In another moment, Anne, in a negligée, ran
downstairs and opened the street-door which
opened into a vestibule.
</p>
<p>
A large long box was handed in and Anne
signed the book. It was addressed to “Miss Polly
Brewster, Studio, 1003 East Thirtieth Street, New
York.”
</p>
<p>
“Polly, here’s a great box of flowers from someone,”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183'></a>183</span>
Anne called, standing at the foot of the
stairs.
</p>
<p>
“For me?”
</p>
<p>
“Your name is on the tag,” said Anne.
</p>
<p>
Instantly, Polly and Eleanor scrambled downstairs
and Polly tremblingly tried to untie the
string about the box.
</p>
<p>
“Dear me—it won’t even break!” said she, trying
to tear the cord by pulling at it.
</p>
<p>
“Here—take the knife!” cried Eleanor, having
dashed to the dining-room to catch up a silver
knife, and returning with it.
</p>
<p>
The string was cut, the lid taken off, and several
wrappers of oiled paper removed. Then,
there, upon a bed of lace-paper rested a dozen of
magnificent American Beauties, with stems more
than a yard long. And to the cluster, about the
middle of the stems, was attached a fine golden
cord holding a papier maché heart. The heart
had a golden arrow half-buried in its plump center.
</p>
<p>
“What wonderful roses!” breathed Polly.
</p>
<p>
“Isn’t the heart cute!” giggled Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“No card, or sign, to say where they came
from?” asked Anne, picking the heart up carefully.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, there’s another heart—see! On the point
of the arrow at the back,” cried Eleanor. And
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184'></a>184</span>
there was another heart fastened to the first one
by means of the sharp arrow.
</p>
<p>
The girls sought carefully for some clue of the
sender, but the sweet perfume wafted from the
roses was all that rewarded their search.
</p>
<p>
“Whoever it was, he is a dear!” said Polly,
fondly touching the waxen stems.
</p>
<p>
“And we’ll try to keep them as long as possible
so, whoever it was, will see that we appreciate the
flowers,” said Anne, going for water.
</p>
<p>
“At last I have found a use for that tall vase I
bought that first week of auctions,” laughed Eleanor,
taking the glass from under the window-seat.
</p>
<p>
Scarcely were the roses arranged to satisfy the
admiring group, when the bell rang again. Eleanor
being nearest the door, ran out to the small
vestibule and peeped through the window in the
street-door.
</p>
<p>
“Well, of all things! Another messenger.
Maybe he has a valentine for me.”
</p>
<p>
The door was opened, Eleanor said “yes” to his
query if Mrs. Stewart lived there, and having
signed the book, hurried in with a tier of boxes.
There were four in all.
</p>
<p>
“Miss Anne Stewart the first on top,” read
Polly.
</p>
<p>
The second was for Mrs. Stewart, and the third
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185'></a>185</span>
for Polly, the last being Eleanor’s. Each box contained
a beautiful spray of cut flowers but no card.
Not even a suggestion of the sender.
</p>
<p>
“Well, it beats all. Why couldn’t our admirers
have sent our flowers in the morning,” laughed
Anne.
</p>
<p>
Again the bell pealed. “It surely can’t be more
flowers!” laughed Polly, running to the door. But
it was. A card on the outside read: “Say it with
Flowers,” to Miss Anne Stewart.
</p>
<p>
By this time everyone was laughing and trying
to guess who could have sent the blossoms. And
had the bell sounded again, no one would have
been surprised. But it didn’t, and after guessing
of all impossible persons who might be the senders
of the flower-valentines, Anne ventured:
“Someone may have telegraphed to New York
this morning, you know, to send us these flowers,
at once. I’ve heard said, the florists were so
rushed to-day with valentine orders that they
couldn’t secure enough flowers from the wholesale
shops.”
</p>
<p>
“That’s about it!” declared Eleanor. “John
sent you this last box, and maybe Daddy sent us
each the smaller boxes. But <em>who</em> could have sent
Polly a hundred dollars’ worth of American Beauties?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186'></a>186</span>
</p>
<p>
Finally they went to bed with the great question
still unsolved; and Polly often wondered, thereafter,
if Mr. Dalken could have sent her those
roses? Had she guessed the truth, would she have
been content to go on so serenely with her studies
of interior decorating?
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187'></a>187</span><a name='chXII' id='chXII'></a>CHAPTER XII—MR. FABIAN PLOTS FOR FACTS</h2>
<p>
The roses kept for more than two weeks, filling
the Studio rooms with fragrance, but keeping
their secret as to who had sent them to Polly. She
had gone to everyone she knew and tried to find
out who had given them to her. Then she beguiled
Mr. Ashby into finding out if Mr. Dalken
was the guilty one. And when he was found innocent,
she bribed Mr. Dalken to find out if the
Latimers or the Evans sent them—but she could
not see why anyone should spend so much money
on her, and try to hide the fact.
</p>
<p>
When Mr. Fabian was satisfied that it was not
one of their old friends who had sent the roses,
he thought of a way to find out. The box had had
the name on its cover, of one of Fifth avenue’s
most fashionable florists, so he went there and
tried to learn what he wanted to know, by asking
the proprietor.
</p>
<p>
But the man smiled and shook his head. “We
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188'></a>188</span>
are never allowed to divulge state secrets, Mr.
Fabian.”
</p>
<p>
“Not even when that secret concerns a protegée
of mine? I do not wish to use the knowledge, but
merely to relieve my mind.”
</p>
<p>
“If I were to tell you, Mr. Fabian, I should
have to also tell the six other individuals who
begged me to tell them confidentially who ordered
the roses.”
</p>
<p>
“Six others! Have others been here to ask
this same question?” asked Mr. Fabian, amazed.
</p>
<p>
The florist laughed. “Yes, that pretty miss
seems to be very popular. Who is she, anyway?”
</p>
<p>
“A little girl that attends my art class, and I
am bound to keep her mind free from nonsense
until her education is finished.”
</p>
<p>
“Can you keep a secret—on your oath?” asked
the florist.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, yes!” eagerly agreed Mr. Fabian, thinking
he was now going to hear who sent the roses.
</p>
<p>
“Well, then, this much I may tell you—just
to ease your fears: the individual who sent those
roses is as anxious as you can be, to keep the girl’s
heart and mind free from nonsense and to allow
her to complete her art education without thoughts
of beaux.”
</p>
<p>
“Is that all you’ve got to say?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189'></a>189</span>
</p>
<p>
“My goodness, don’t you appreciate that much!
You only wanted to know something to ease your
mind, and now I have told you.”
</p>
<p>
“How do <em>you</em> know what the gentleman thinks
or wants?”
</p>
<p>
“I was told so by the one who ordered the roses.
But I did not tell you it was a gentleman.”
</p>
<p>
This was still more disconcerting to Mr. Fabian,
but he never told a soul that he had visited
the florist. He did wonder, however, if the man
had given the others the same confidence he had
imparted confidentially to him.
</p>
<p>
Polly, the cause of all this secret concern of her
friends, had forgotten all about the valentine, and
was devoting her entire time and attention to the
absorbing lessons at art school.
</p>
<p>
Easter Week came early, and the term beginning
immediately after the Easter Holidays, would
start a course on mural decorations, and the study
of tapestries. So interesting had their night-classes
become, that Polly and Eleanor neglected
their studies at day-school. Anne noticed their
daily marks and worried over it. At last she consulted
with Mr. Fabian.
</p>
<p>
“You must realize, Mr. Fabian, that the girls
are still young. Even if they were prepared to
enter the profession they are proposing to follow
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190'></a>190</span>
they would be too young in years to make a success
of it. People are not apt to turn over contracts
for art or decorating, to girls under twenty.
Therefore I advise you to make them drop their
night school until after they have caught up in
their day classes.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian was secretly pleased at the news
that his two pet scholars preferred <em>his</em> teachings
to the dry high-school lessons. But he dared not
express his satisfaction to Anne.
</p>
<p>
“All you say is true, but there is no need for my
girls to give up their art class. The night school
closes for a two weeks’ holiday at Easter, and
then, as warm weather comes on apace, I find my
pupils begin to lose zeal in their constant attendance
at class. You will see that Polly and Eleanor
will turn more to their day studies, then. But I
would not advise you to cut off their pursuit in art
work, now. It will only create deeper zest for it,
and turn their thoughts completely from day-studies.”
</p>
<p>
Anne replied that this was logical, and so the
girls never knew that they had been standing upon
the danger-line of having to suspend their favorite
studies.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian was roused to a more temperate art
“diet” for the two girls, thereafter. And Polly
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191'></a>191</span>
and Eleanor found, as Spring advanced, that lessons
in night school were simpler and not quite so
absorbing to their time, as those of the recent
weeks had been.
</p>
<p>
In the mural decoration study that began with
the new Spring term, the pupils found that, beginning
with the order of antiquity, Egyptian first,
and then Greek, Roman, Medieval, Moresque and
Persian styles—much of their work done in the
other classes now proved useful. In fact, the historical
studies of these races of people and their
periods of time, proved valuable in review, for
the further perfection of mural art.
</p>
<p>
So when they were given a design to do in
“wave ornament” it was at once recognised as
Egyptian art. Or should a wall decoration be required
where geometrical forms were the principle,
the pupils remembered the religion of the Arabs
and Moors which restricted them to the use of
natural forms which would not conflict with their
worship.
</p>
<p>
Thus Polly and Eleanor began to understand
how important their previous lessons had been, and
how necessary it was for every earnest student of
art to be present at each class, that no connecting
link in instruction might be dropped and lost.
</p>
<p>
As the weeks went by, and the end of the term
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192'></a>192</span>
drew near, the night classes thinned out perceptibly,
many of the less enthusiastic pupils preferring
outdoor sports to close application to art
pursuits. But Polly and Eleanor found their
pleasure in hearing all Mr. Fabian had to say to
them on various subjects.
</p>
<p>
Perhaps the girls might not have been so keen
for school during the warm evenings, had not Mr.
Fabian’s knowledge and fascinating descriptions
of anything pertaining to his profession, been so
freely given them at all times. He continued to
discover exhibits, lectures, and other educational
pastimes, to which he conducted his favorite pupils,
so that there was no dearth of material to aid and
demonstrate his teachings.
</p>
<p>
As June came in, Polly found New York not
nearly as cool and pleasant an abode as Pebbly Pit
with its altitude upon the crests of the Rockies.
And she longed for a breath of the mountain air
that would renew jaded senses. Both Eleanor and
Polly began to show the strain of the close application
to study that they had had since October, so
Anne was thankful that the schools would soon
close for the Summer.
</p>
<p>
Then the last class in Cooper Union ended, and
Mr. Fabian escorted his girls to their home. Already,
they were planning for the coming year of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193'></a>193</span>
work, but their instructor smiled and interrupted.
</p>
<p>
“I have refused an offer to continue my classes
in the school, so I will not be there next year.”
</p>
<p>
“What!” gasped Polly.
</p>
<p>
“Not teach us!” cried Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Not teach at Cooper—no. I feel that I am
not strong enough to keep up such arduous labors;
and so many there do not seem to appreciate what
I am sacrificing for them. I find there are some
people who think that, because a thing is free, it
is not as valuable as if they had to pay for it. You
can see, for yourselves, how many scholars
dropped out of the classes when other diversions
offered themselves. They join an art class and
attend it when nothing else can be had. They
take my thought and time, and when they weary
of the routine, they fail to appear. It is very disheartening.
But it is so every year, and I am tired
of trying to keep up the interest of such lazy
leeches.”
</p>
<p>
Polly and Eleanor heard their dear professor’s
words in sorry silence. What would night school
be without him?
</p>
<p>
“But I have planned a far different school beginning
with next October. I have chosen the
faithful few who really mean business, and to these
I shall offer my services for a small return. I
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194'></a>194</span>
feel sure that this will mean greater benefit to
individuals in a small class, as I can devote much
more time to each student and give better advice
wherever it is needed. I have thought of seven
scholars for my little school.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Mr. Fabian—I do hope Polly and I are
among them!” exclaimed Eleanor, anxiously.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian smiled. “Perhaps it was because
of Polly and you that I thought of this idea. You
two girls really should have personal instruction,
instead of having to waste hours in a general class
waiting for delinquents to catch up with you.
</p>
<p>
“That has always been the weak spot in any
large class; there are those who forge ahead
eagerly, and the lazy ones who miss a class every
few nights, causing the whole body to delay and
wait while they work to catch up on what they
have missed.
</p>
<p>
“When the few ambitious workers can be
grouped together and not hampered by the
leeches, one can readily see how much better it
is for all concerned. This is what I propose
doing.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, it will be splendid! and I am glad, for one,
to be able to look forward to such teachings. To
know that we can ask all the questions freely, and
not have to wait to have the easiest lesson explained
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195'></a>195</span>
to the thick-headed, will be a great relief,”
said Polly, gratefully.
</p>
<p>
At the door of the Studio, Mr. Fabian said
good-by. “I am planning to sail for Europe very
soon, my dears, and I am looking forward to a
good time with my little family. We intend visiting
all the famous places of interest to an artist,
and when I return in the Fall, I will be able to tell
you about the great cathedrals, the wonderful collections
of antiques, and other sights.”
</p>
<p>
“As for Polly and me—we won’t be able to give
you any such tales, as we are going to spend our
vacation at Pebbly Pit, again. But we will bring
back plenty of health and renewed zeal,” laughed
Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Ah! That is what I need of you now, children.
See that you fill out the hollows in your
cheeks, and gather ample strength and health for
another strenuous year in New York. I plan to
put both of you on the firing-line next school-year.”
</p>
<p>
“We’ll not fail you, Mr. Fabian,” promised
Polly, taking his hand a second time and patting
it fondly.
</p>
<p>
“Then I’ll not fail <em>you</em>, dear students!” responded
Mr. Fabian, stooping and kissing each
girl affectionately on the forehead, then taking his
leave.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196'></a>196</span>
</p>
<p>
A few days after this the Studio was swathed
in dust-covers, the windows locked and shuttered,
the burglar alarm attached, and at last the front
door was closed by a representative from the insurance
company. The four tenants were on their
way to Grand Central where Jim Latimer and
Kenneth Evans were to meet them. They then
were going to take the Twentieth Century Limited
to Chicago.
</p>
<p>
Jim and Ken had been engaged by Carew, to
join his camp of surveyors in the mountains for
this second season’s work; and, as Polly and her
friends were to spend the summer vacation at
Pebbly Pit, it was quite natural that all six should
journey westward, together.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Dalken and the Ashbys came to see the
friends off, and as the parent Latimers and Evans
were with their boys to the last, there was a large
merry party to accompany the travelers to the
Pullman.
</p>
<p>
“Don’t be surprised to see me bring the Ashbys
to Pebbly Pit in my touring car, some fine day,
soon,” announced Mr. Dalken.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, that would be lovely!” cried Polly,
eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“And leave Ruth with us for the Summer?”
added Eleanor.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197'></a>197</span>
</p>
<p>
“Yes, yes, Daddy—I’d love to spend my vacation
with Polly and Eleanor at the ranch!” exclaimed
Ruth Ashby.
</p>
<p>
“Where would you put us all—even if we did
come?” asked Mrs. Ashby, who had heard of the
limitations of the ranch-house.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, you forget! John writes that we will be
surprised to find the marvelous work that has gone
on at the Cliffs. Not only is the great road down
through the Devil’s Causeway completed for heavy
traffic, but rows and rows of buildings back of the
Imps are ready for occupancy, the moment the
machinery is set up for work on the lava. If the
miners have not yet taken possession of the barracks
we could invite loads of people to visit the
ranch.”
</p>
<p>
Polly spoke eagerly, and her eyes shone as she
beheld her friends enjoying the Brewster hospitality.
</p>
<p>
Everyone laughed at her anxiety to have them
visit her, and Mr. Dalken promised: “I’ll do my
best to bring my friends, Polly.”
</p>
<p>
A quizzical look in his eyes suddenly caused
Polly to remember the valentine she had sent
him. She smiled back at him, but as suddenly
another thought flashed into her mind.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Mr. Dalken, I’ve wanted to ask you for
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198'></a>198</span>
the <em>longest</em> time! Now that it is ancient history,
you won’t mind confessing, will you?”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Dalken shook his head as a concession to
her eager look. And Polly continued: “<em>Did</em> you
send me those American Beauties’ valentine?”
</p>
<p>
A roar greeted this question, as everyone of the
grown-ups had asked the same question of Mr.
Dalken months before. And Mr. Dalken not
only repudiated any knowledge of the valentine
but told how he had visited the florist and had not
been able to ascertain who the Cupid really was.
</p>
<p>
“Polly, I will confess, as they say that open confession
is good for the soul. I was guilty of sending
four boxes of flowers to the Studio on Valentine
Day, to four charming friends, but I showed
no partiality, I think, in the bouquets. I would
like to know, myself, who the Cupid was who sent
such gorgeous roses as you received.”
</p>
<p>
“I wonder! I’m sure it wasn’t Jim,” here Polly
looked searchingly at the young student, and he
shook his head laughingly.
</p>
<p>
“I couldn’t have, had I wanted to. My pocket
money went for that love-sonnet that was so
harshly condemned,” said he.
</p>
<p>
“And I’m sure Ken never dreamed of doing it.
Then there is Mr. Latimer and the doctor—they
are both innocent, I know, as they never think
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199'></a>199</span>
of anything other than the old patented jewel
cutter.”
</p>
<p>
As Polly explained thus in earnest tones, everyone
laughed at the two men so calmly criticised
for their absorption in patents.
</p>
<p>
“So I am inclined to believe it was my <em>own</em>
Daddy. He always did send me the cutest valentines
each year, and I received no card from him
this year—so that is who it was!” declared Polly.
</p>
<p>
“And the only kind of a Cupid to have, these
days, Polly,” approved Mr. Dalken.
</p>
<p>
But the happy circle standing on the platform
of the train-shed were now notified that the passengers
must get on as the train would leave in a
few moments.
</p>
<p>
Good-bys were said, hands shaken, kisses
wafted from the girls to the group remaining in
New York, and then the travelers were gone.
</p>
<p>
Scarcely had the train slowed up in the Chicago
Terminal before John and Tom Latimer were
on board, pushing a way through the Pullmans, in
search of familiar faces.
</p>
<p>
“There they are—there comes John!” cried
Polly, excitedly, jumping up and pointing to the
other end of the coach.
</p>
<p>
“Oh—!” sighed Anne, flushing joyously as her
glance rested upon her fiancé.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200'></a>200</span>
</p>
<p>
But John had no eyes for anyone but Anne.
Polly was left standing with hands out-stretched,
her whole soul quivering with anticipation of her
beloved brother’s greeting, and now he forgot
she was alive! Then Paul Stewart and Pete Maynard
ran in.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Stewart was embraced by Paul, and Pete
hugged his sister Eleanor. Tom Latimer stood
a pace apart, his features working desperately to
control his feelings as he saw John joyously scanning
Anne’s face, and Polly limply sitting down
in the parlor chair. Then he quickly went over
and greeted her.
</p>
<p>
“Polly, and you boys”—turning to Jim and Kenneth—“we
sure are happy to see you-all again.
My, what a change New York has made in you.
I see quite a wonderful young lady, where once I
remember my little ranch pal with pigtails.”
Tom tried to laugh merrily.
</p>
<p>
Kenneth suddenly launched into a silly conversation
to cheer Polly. But Polly never could dissimulate,
and she was too deeply hurt at her
brother’s neglect to pretend to be merry. John,
however, now turned to embrace and kiss his sister,
and evidently had had no thought of neglecting
her.
</p>
<p>
“Come, children, we must get out or we’ll be
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201'></a>201</span>
carried to the round-house,” suggested Jim Latimer,
taking up certain bags.
</p>
<p>
Once on the platform where Mr. Maynard welcomed
them, Tom said: “When do Ken and you
go on to Denver?”
</p>
<p>
“On the next train, leaving here at two. That
gives us an hour and a half with you.”
</p>
<p>
“Anyone want dinner, or did you eat on the
train?” now asked Paul Stewart.
</p>
<p>
“All dined, but now waiting for someone to
suggest a party for Ken and I, as we go on in a
little while,” said Jim.
</p>
<p>
“Here!” offered Mr. Maynard. “Pile into
taxis and we’ll be at the house in a jiffy. No place
like home when there’s no other place to go to.”
</p>
<p>
So, laughing, the entire party bundled itself into
cabs, John managing to get Anne and her luggage
to himself. Immediately, he signalled the driver
to start off.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Maynard, Paul and Mrs. Stewart got in
another cab and Jim, Ken, and Eleanor in another.
That left Polly and Tom Latimer, with the remaining
bags, to get in the last taxi. It was all
done in such noisy confusion, that no one dreamed
how one clever manager had so manipulated matters
as to have Polly alone in the last cab.
</p>
<p>
“Well, Polly, I hear you are soaring in your
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202'></a>202</span>
ambition. Mr. Fabian wrote me how interested
he was in Nolla and you.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, did the dear man write you? I didn’t
know he and you corresponded.”
</p>
<p>
“I took a great fancy to the idealist, and having
always loved art for itself, I told him I would
consider it a great pleasure if he would exchange
letters with me when he had the opportunity. He
has done better for me than I had any right to
expect. He writes the most interesting letters—just
as clever as his talks on art.”
</p>
<p>
Having found a willing listener in Tom, Polly
expanded on her private opinion of such a wonderful
teacher as Mr. Fabian was, and before the
taxi drew up in front of the Maynard’s brown-stone
mansion, Tom had the comforting assurance
that Polly had quite forgotten her brother
John’s unintentional neglect.
</p>
<p>
Jim and Ken enjoyed their hasty visit and then
took their departure to catch their train going
west. When Mrs. Maynard and Barbara dispensed
tea, the three young men, John, Tom and
Paul, had to enter into service for the hostess; but
they would greatly have preferred to enjoy their
time as each inclined—John alone with Anne in
the conservatory, Tom and Polly talking art, and
Paul making merry with Eleanor.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203'></a>203</span>
</p>
<p>
Barbara, who a year ago would have resented
oblivion for herself, now smiled contentedly and
gazed upon a huge solitaire.
</p>
<p>
“Bob, shall we announce it?” whispered her
mother.
</p>
<p>
“No, they do not know Percival, and, moreover,
not one of these people appreciate his social
standing.”
</p>
<p>
So the young people now gathered about Mrs.
Maynard’s tea-table were deprived (so Bob
thought) of the greatest event of the past social
season—her engagement to one of the most aristocratic
and wealthiest eligibles on the market, Percival
Weston.
</p>
<p>
Barbara twirled her solitaire smilingly, nor
cared that her Percival was bald and diminutive,
past the prime in life, and not over-brilliant. Had
he not been the catch at Newport the previous
Summer? And had he not attached himself to
her as soon as she appeared in the Adirondack
Camp presided over by the famous society leader
of New York?
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204'></a>204</span><a name='chXIII' id='chXIII'></a>CHAPTER XIII—BACK AGAIN AT PEBBLY PIT</h2>
<p>
“Oh, Nolla! Isn’t this great after old New
York?” cried Polly, as they were all jostled in the
big ranch-wagon driven by Mr. Brewster, as it
rumbled over the trail to Pebbly Pit.
</p>
<p>
“We-all think it’s great, Poll; but wait till you
see what your going to New York did to the old
Pit! No one to blame for it but yourself,”
laughed her father.
</p>
<p>
“We heard there was a row of buildings down
behind the Imps, and that a fine roadway was constructed
through the Devil’s Causeway,” said
Polly, eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“But no one told you how John and Tom came
here as soon as college closed, and brought a railroad
man with them to see about building a spur
from Bear Forks to the valley at the foot of
Grizzly Slide. It’s twenty miles nearer Denver
than Oak Creek, so the company agreed to risk
the work if Pebbly Pit would guarantee a certain
amount of travel and freight over the road.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205'></a>205</span>
</p>
<p>
“Well—did you, Daddy?” asked Polly, eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“Tom Latimer did. Agreed to put up bonds
for same.”
</p>
<p>
“Tom? Why Tom Latimer?” asked Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Tom is mighty ambitious, you know, and
seems as if he liked this section better than the
East. However, it is Tom we-all can thank for
that new railroad. When you-all come home next
year, you-all will be riding over your own tracks.”
Mr. Brewster chuckled.
</p>
<p>
“Is Tom going to join that crew of engineers
that John and he were with last year?” now asked
Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“No, indeed! Tom and John will be right here
with us this summer. We-all need their help in
working out the problems of the mine and Rainbow
Cliffs,” responded Sam Brewster.
</p>
<p>
“I don’t suppose we’ll see a bit of John as long
as Anne and her mother remain in Denver, visiting
their old friends,” pouted Polly, jealously.
</p>
<p>
Her father glanced slyly at her, and smiled. He
felt sorry for his little girl who had always felt
that her brother John was her own personal property.
Now that someone claimed first love and
attention from him it was mighty hard for her, as
well as for Mrs. Brewster.
</p>
<p>
“Ah should wonder at John if he failed in
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206'></a>206</span>
gallantry to his sweetheart,” was all Sam Brewster
said aloud.
</p>
<p>
“Oh! Everyone makes me tired! Anyone’d
think Anne Stewart was a saint. She’s only a
girl the same as Nolla, or me. And no one is
found going mad over either one of <em>us</em>!” cried
Polly, pettishly.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor laughed. “Give us a few years and
then see!”
</p>
<p>
Polly curled her lip impatiently. “A few years
from now and I’ll be in Europe with dear old
Fabian, studying art. I won’t want attention from
anyone, then.”
</p>
<p>
“Seems to me,” ventured Mr. Brewster, gently,
“my little girl is hankering for homage or a beau—which
is it?”
</p>
<p>
Polly stared aghast. “Neither one! How dare
you say so.”
</p>
<p>
“You-all were speaking of attention.”
</p>
<p>
“But I was only thinking of <em>John</em>. He’ll have
Anne for a wife all his life long—after next year.
But he won’t have <em>me</em> after I finish school.”
</p>
<p>
In spite of the tearful tone, Mr. Brewster had
to laugh. “Don’t waste your time on John, Polly
girl. Let me make up for him and be your devoted
attendant. Ah’ll always be at your beck and
call!”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207'></a>207</span>
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Dad! That reminds me!” exclaimed
Polly, turning square around to face her father,
and forgetting her recent misery over John.
“<em>How</em> did you ever manage about that rose valentine
you sent me?”
</p>
<p>
Sam Brewster let the reins dangle recklessly as
he, in turn, stared at his daughter. “What valentine?”
</p>
<p>
Polly winked roguishly and laughed. “You
can’t pull the wool over my eyes, Daddy. I’ve
spent a whole year in New York to some advantage,
you see. I have seen lots of such feigned
innocence as yours.”
</p>
<p>
“But honest, Poll, Ah don’t even know what
you-all are talking about; Ah got your sweet valentine,
and so did maw.”
</p>
<p>
Polly frowned at her father. “Didn’t you
wire to a florist in New York and order a dozen
great roses for my valentine? And tie the two
hearts pierced by a golden arrow, about the center
of the flower-stems?”
</p>
<p>
“Positively, this is the first word Ah’ve heard
of it!” declared Sam Brewster so emphatically,
that the girls believed him.
</p>
<p>
“Now, Polly, the hunt is narrowing down,”
laughed Eleanor. “We know it was no one in
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208'></a>208</span>
New York, and it wasn’t Jim or Ken. Your
father says he didn’t do it, so it leaves only a few
more to ask.”
</p>
<p>
Suddenly Polly clasped her hands. Her face
was radiant. “Why, of course! How could I
forget? It was dear old John! He, too, always
remembered me on Valentine Day.” Then turning
to her father, and shaking a finger at him, she
added: “But you didn’t remember me, this year,
bad man.”
</p>
<p>
“Tell truth, Polly, there was so much to think
about and so much to do, over the buildings and
mines, that Ah clean forgot there ever was such
a day, until I got your card. Then I felt sorry.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, thank goodness, John remembered!”
sighed Polly. And Eleanor noticed that she
smiled again in forgiveness of her brother’s shortcomings.
</p>
<p>
When the wagon stopped at the porch of the
ranch-house, Eleanor laughed: “Just as we drove
up last year—but oh, how different this year!”
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Brewster hurried out to welcome her dear
girls, and laughed at Eleanor’s remark. “Still
making Irish bulls, Nolla!”
</p>
<p>
They all laughed merrily, and then Sary rushed
from her kitchen, and clasped Polly to her ample
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209'></a>209</span>
bosom. Eleanor came in for her share of the
maid’s embrace before she had to hurry back to
the dinner.
</p>
<p>
“Ah’se cookin’ cabbige soup, Miss Nolla,” she
explained.
</p>
<p>
“Why, Sary, that first night we were here last
summer, you had ‘cabbidge’ soup, too!”
</p>
<p>
“We-all has to hev it once a week reg’ler now,
’cause Jeb loves it, an’ he is a foreman, you know.”
Sary’s pride in her spouse’s promotion was most
evident.
</p>
<p>
While Polly and her mother cozily sat together
on the porch and smiled happily to be in
each other’s company, once more, Eleanor walked
to the barns with Mr. Brewster. She had an object
in view, and she never delayed in finding out
what she wanted to know, should the opportunity
come and offer itself to her.
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Brewster, do tell me honestly—<em>did</em> you
send the roses, or do you know who did send
them to Polly?”
</p>
<p>
“Nolla, Ah never heard of them until to-day.
Ah’m as curious as you, to know who sent them.
What were they like, anyway?”
</p>
<p>
“Well, you must know, Mr. Brewster, that
American Beauty roses like they were, cost a
small fortune in New York, at that time of the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210'></a>210</span>
year. Each one of those roses cost not less than
five or six dollars. And the trinket that was
bound to the stems was not a cheap thing, either.
In fact, the chain was of fine, gold-plated links,
and the arrows were gold-plated, too. It was an
imported curio.”
</p>
<p>
“By the Great Horned Spoon! Roses that cost
like that! Why, they wilted, didn’t they?” gasped
Sam Brewster.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor laughed merrily. “Sure thing! But
we kept them as long as possible. That is just
where the joy comes in of getting costly roses—they
wilt. And anyone, who will spend that much
money on one, must think a heap of her first—see?”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Brewster stood stock-still. He caught at
Eleanor’s arm. “Ah’ve got it!”
</p>
<p>
“What—who?” Eleanor was breathless in
her eagerness.
</p>
<p>
“Find the silly swain that’s making eyes at my
Polly, and you’ve caught the rascal who sent the
roses.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor screamed with laughter. “Oh, you’re
funny! But isn’t that exactly what everyone’s
been doing?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh—have they?”
</p>
<p>
“Sure! I learned that Mr. Fabian tried to find
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211'></a>211</span>
out who the fellow was. And then Mr. Dalken
wanted to know. The Latimers and Evans put
Jim and Ken through the third degree, but no one
confessed to it. Now do <em>you</em> believe John sent
them?”
</p>
<p>
“I do not!” was the positive reply.
</p>
<p>
“Neither do I! Because John sent Anne a
bunch of roses for <em>her</em> valentine but they were
only seven dollars. She got a dozen, the usual
short-stemmed Bride Roses. He wouldn’t dare
send his sister such gorgeous ones and only give
his fiancée cheaper ones.”
</p>
<p>
Sam Brewster smiled at his companion. “Nolla,
you’re a wise little owl.”
</p>
<p>
“Anyone would be, after having had the social
training that was fed to me from the bottle up!”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Brewster laughed at this, and Eleanor then
said: “Guess I’ll be going back, now, Mr. Brewster.
I wanted to know your opinion about John
and the roses.”
</p>
<p>
“Wait, Nolla. Have you any answer to it yourself?”
</p>
<p>
“U—m, yes—I have a sort of a suspicion. But
it isn’t fair to anyone to even hint at it. So don’t
ask me.”
</p>
<p>
“This much you might answer, however, seeing
that Ah’m Polly’s father and the most concerned
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212'></a>212</span>
in the beaux she has. Do you fancy it might have
been your brother Pete?”
</p>
<p>
“<em>Pete!</em>” The very tone made Mr. Brewster
smile as he saw that Eleanor had never thought
of him. “Anyway, Pete and Poll hardly know
each other.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah wonder if it could have been Paul Stewart—he
seemed dreadfully attentive to her that time
when we-all were visiting you-all in New York.”
Mr. Brewster watched Eleanor shrewdly.
</p>
<p>
“I just guess it <em>wasn’t</em> Paul! He sent me a
lovely card for a valentine; and while we were
home in Chicago, I asked him about flowers. He
never thought to wire a florist about sending me
any flowers, he said. So I know Paul hadn’t anything
to do with it.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah! Well, Nolla, now we know who he was,
eh?” laughed Sam Brewster, tweaking Eleanor’s
ear and hastening away to the barns.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor stood watching him. Then she laughed
softly: “He sure did put one over on me, that
time!”
</p>
<p>
As she walked slowly back to the ranch-house
she soliloquized to herself. “That’s just who it
was. Gee! It’s almost as fine as having a romance
of my very own. But Polly doesn’t want it so.
</p>
<p>
“All the same, when John and Tom come down
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213'></a>213</span>
here, I’m going to tease Tom about the wonderful
roses Polly’s brother sent her. Then we’ll see
what we’ll see!”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor could keep her own counsel as well as
Sam Brewster, but the two exchanged wise looks,
now and then, when no one was watching. Still,
never a word was said again on the rose subject.
</p>
<p>
A week after the two girls got home, the others
in the party came down from Denver. Mrs.
Stewart was to be Mrs. Brewster’s guest that Summer,
Eleanor was Polly’s, and Anne said she was
John’s visitor. Then Tom Latimer laughed and
said: “I’ll have to be Mr. Brewster’s pal.”
</p>
<p>
“I can promise you that you won’t have your
head turned by any pretty school-girl, Tom, if you
are <em>my</em> guest,” chuckled Sam Brewster.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor tittered, Tom flushed, but the others
laughed at such a speech.
</p>
<p>
Plans had been made to take a three-day trip
up over Top Notch Trail, and inspect the progress
on the mine, but Mrs. Brewster and her guest
would remain at home, by preference.
</p>
<p>
The merry cavalcade started out, Polly on her
beloved Noddy as usual, and Eleanor on Choko.
The others rode their horses, and Jeb led an extra
horse with the packs.
</p>
<p>
There was no planned order in riding; first one
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214'></a>214</span>
girl would have one of the escort, and then another
would ride up and “cut in” to urge the other
onward. Thus everyone was laughing and teasing
and talking merrily until they reached the falls
on top of the mountains. Here, where Polly had
caught the trout, the year before, they all had
dinner.
</p>
<p>
“My goodness! Folks in New York never
know what they miss by never coming to the
Rockies,” declared Polly, her eyes wandering to
the far-off line of mountain-ranges.
</p>
<p>
“And folks who live near these mountains are
never happy until they get to New York,” remarked
Mr. Brewster.
</p>
<p>
Polly laughed. “Oh, that is when one needs
education. I have always had too <em>much</em> mountain
and not enough of other good things. But now
that I am tasting a little of everything, I like my
mountains as well as anything I’ve seen.”
</p>
<p>
“D’ye think you-all will stay at home after
this?” eagerly asked her father.
</p>
<p>
“Double no!” affirmed Polly, emphatically.
</p>
<p>
Everyone laughed at the expressive slang, and
Polly added: “At least, not until I have seen
Europe, year after next, and tried a hand in my
profession. Maybe—if I fall in love, some day—I’ll
come back to Pebbly Pit to raise my family.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215'></a>215</span>
</p>
<p>
John Brewster thought this so funny that he
ha-ha-haed loudly, but the others smiled doubtfully.
Eleanor could not help sending a swift
look at Tom Latimer to see how he received the
information. But Tom was scrambling to his
feet, so his face could not be observed. Eleanor
glanced away from him to Sam Brewster, and saw
the latter with a twinkle cornering his eyes as he
noticed Tom’s awkward movement.
</p>
<p>
“U—m!” muttered Eleanor. “I’ve got your
number, Tom Latimer!” But no one overheard
her whispered thought.
</p>
<p>
As the riders proceeded on their way, Paul
Stewart said: “I don’t see why you folks should
think this such a tough trail. I consider it rather
broad and good.”
</p>
<p>
“Humph! It’s a highway these days, what with
all the riding up and down. But last year you
wouldn’t have been able to see any thing but trees
and rocks,” Polly returned.
</p>
<p>
It was as Polly said: almost as clear a trail as
any woodland road. At Four-Mile-Blaze where
the girls were well-nigh lost on their first ride over
the trail, there now was a good but narrow bridle-path.
Thence it was easy going up the steep side
to Grizzly Slide.
</p>
<p>
“W-ell! See the crowd of men working up
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216'></a>216</span>
there? And hear the sound of tools and machinery!”
exclaimed Polly, as she rode out of the
screening forest, and came to a man-made clearing.
</p>
<p>
“Of all things! Trees chopped down and turned
into huts; an army of workmen living here as if
they belonged,” added Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“We are blasting and clearing away the rubble
that hides your mine. We had both ends working
a few weeks ago, but now we are trying to drop a
shaft from the top,” said Mr. Brewster.
</p>
<p>
The visitors camped at the miners’ settlement,
that night, and the next day the girls were taken
about to see the great progress made according to
the plans to mine the ore.
</p>
<p>
A cable-road was being built from Choko’s
Cave down the steep mountain-side, to the valley,
and this was to be used to carry the ore-cars up
and down. As the girls stood on top of the ledge
that overhung the cave, they could look straight
down the awesome mountain-side, where the forest
had been cleared for the cable-line.
</p>
<p>
“It looks as if it all cost a heap of money,” said
Polly.
</p>
<p>
She had been so engaged in looking at the
change wrought in her beloved mountain, that
she failed to see that the others had wandered
away. But someone stood behind her. She felt
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217'></a>217</span>
it. As no reply came to her statement, she turned
and found Tom Latimer waiting for her.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, where are the others?”
</p>
<p>
“Gone over to the other side where the underground
river comes out, you know.”
</p>
<p>
“I was saying, Tom, that this must have taken
a lot of money.”
</p>
<p>
“More than we figured on, but once we begin
to get out the ore, it will roll back four-fold.”
</p>
<p>
Polly was impressed, but still wondered
“Where did all the money come from, Tom?”
</p>
<p>
“Stocks. We wanted to keep most of the Capital
for you and the first owners, you know; but
investors wouldn’t put up so much money without
a vote. So we had to sell out some of the voting
shares. That’s where Mr. Dalken came in—he
bought a big block of your stock, and it is his
money that’s doing this.”
</p>
<p>
“I think he is the nicest man! I used to think
he sent me a wonderful bunch of American Beauty
roses for a valentine, but I only learned the other
day that it was John! Wasn’t it funny?”
</p>
<p>
Tom laughed with Polly, and said: “What
made you think Mr. Dalken sent them?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, something happened once to Nolla and
me, in New York that nobody knows—so don’t
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218'></a>218</span>
you go and tell on us, Tom!” Polly waited
anxiously to get Tom’s promise, then she proceeded.
</p>
<p>
“And Mr. Dalken happened along in time to
save us from the beasts. After that he made us
use his small automobile when we went to night-school.
We were awfully grateful to him for it.
</p>
<p>
“Then when Valentine Day came along, I suggested
to Nolla that we send him a lovely card
telling him how good he was to us. I sent it, and
late that night the roses came. I felt sure, all the
time, that he sent them; I thought he had forgotten
it was Valentine Day until after my card
reached him. I always wondered why he didn’t
put Nolla’s name on the card, too, as well as mine.
But now I know he never sent them.”
</p>
<p>
“Does John know you’ve found him out?”
asked Tom.
</p>
<p>
“No, not yet; but some day I’ll tease him about it.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t! let him think you are still trying to
guess who sent the roses. It will tickle him to
pieces to believe you think it is an ardent admirer
of yours.” Tom laughed merrily with Polly at
the very idea.
</p>
<p>
“That’s just what I will! And you and I will
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219'></a>219</span>
sometimes pretend <em>you</em> sent the roses to me, and
then we will watch John’s face. Maybe he will up
and tell the truth!” added Polly.
</p>
<p>
“No, I doubt it. You see, Polly, John is a
wonderful actor, and one never knows just what
he thinks. If he managed to keep a close mouth
to me, his best friend, all this time, it must be
because he didn’t want Anne to find out he sent
you such roses.”
</p>
<p>
Then the two conspirators walked back to join
the others, but Polly and Tom felt that they had
a good joke between them, thereafter.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220'></a>220</span><a name='chXIV' id='chXIV'></a>CHAPTER XIV—ANOTHER YEAR AT SCHOOL</h2>
<p>
The summer vacation passed quickly for Polly
and Eleanor, and September came in with wonderful
Autumn weather, when riding and mountain-climbing
were just the thing. However, all
such outings ended to plan for the return to New
York.
</p>
<p>
A letter had arrived from Mr. Fabian, in which
he spoke of his delightful visit with his wife and
daughter. They had gone to various places in
Europe and England, inspecting and studying all
the famous old works of art, and the ancient
buildings that made fitting caskets for these rare
curios.
</p>
<p>
“When I read this letter, of all Mr. Fabian has
done with his Summer, I feel guilty,” said Polly
to her friend, Nolla.
</p>
<p>
“Why should you? We had to rest and drop
all idea of study so’s to be fresh for this year’s
work. Didn’t we do it?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, we rested, all right, Nolla; but it seems
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221'></a>221</span>
we might have done some of the work we planned
to do, before we left New York. There is that
chest with our colors, paper and other things—we
never as much as unlocked it.”
</p>
<p>
“Polly, I can paint any sort of drapery you
want, and in any light or shadow. I can paint a
vase, a chair or a lamp; I can draw a hall, or a
room, or a window. What more do you want?
Why should we sit down and make loads of these
things all summer, when we know how to do the
work, already?”
</p>
<p>
“I don’t know, Nolla, except that we ought to
practise!”
</p>
<p>
“Pooh! I’m ready for all the work they want
to pile up on me, now and I’m glad I’ve been so
lazy all summer.”
</p>
<p>
“To tell the truth, Nolla, <em>I</em> am more than ready
to work with all my heart. I feel as if I would
dry up if I played any more,” admitted Polly,
laughingly.
</p>
<p>
With this desire to again take up their studies in
New York, the girls left Pebbly Pit the second
week in September. By the last of the month,
they were eagerly planning with Mr. Fabian for
the new year’s school work in art and decoration.
</p>
<p>
“I have a pleasant surprise for you, girls,” announced
Mr. Fabian, after greetings were exchanged. They all
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222'></a>222</span>
sat under the locust tree in
the little yard of the Studio.
</p>
<p>
“‘On with the dance,’” laughed Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“As you know, I landed in New York the first
week of September, and found most of my friends
still away in the country. But Mr. Dalken was in
evidence, as ever, eager to offer me his hospitality,
until I located for the Winter.
</p>
<p>
“We sat in the medieval library of his apartment,
and I remarked, casually, at the unusual size
of his rooms.
</p>
<p>
“‘Yes,’ replied he. ‘That’s the advantage of
leasing one of the old-fashioned apartments not
so far uptown. One gets the benefit of being near
the center of activities in the city, and at the same
time one can have the great rooms once occupied
by the old gentry of the town.’
</p>
<p>
“‘What a splendid room for gatherings,’ I said,
never dreaming of his inspiration.
</p>
<p>
“‘Seeing that you are looking for a suitable
room in which to conduct your little private class
of art decorators, why not use this library? I
have all kinds of reference books in the cases and
I am so seldom at home in the early part of the
evening that you will be undisturbed.’
</p>
<p>
“I was astonished, as you may imagine, and I
said, ‘But, Mr. Dalken, we couldn’t think of using
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223'></a>223</span>
this room and the apartment, without some return
for your kindness.’
</p>
<p>
“He laughed. ‘What do I want of rent or its
equivalent? I am only too glad to do you and
those charming students of yours a good turn.
You see, I still owe Polly and Eleanor a great balance
which can never be paid. Were it not for
those two girls I would not have a child—even
though I seldom see my little one.’
</p>
<p>
“I felt that he was so earnest about the offer
that I said we would talk it over with Mr. Ashby
and let him judge. Not that I did not see the advantage
of using the rooms, but I wanted an impartial
friend of Mr. Dalken’s to decide whether
or no he might regret the generous offer, later;
and then not care to tell us that we bothered him
with our regular classes three nights a week.
</p>
<p>
“So we visited the Ashbys the following evening,
and to my amazement, Mr. Ashby was enthusiastic
over the plan. He said: ‘Now you’ve
started out right, Dalk, and to prove how much I
think of your offer, I am going to have Ruth join
the class this year—if Mr. Fabian will take her.
It might be rather nice to have Elizabeth join the
class, also, even though she may not show any
talent for the work.’
</p>
<p>
“‘Now, Ashby, you must pardon me if I speak
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224'></a>224</span>
frankly,’ Mr. Dalken then said. ‘One of the main
reasons for Mr. Fabian’s resignation from
Cooper, and giving all his valuable time to a small
class, is to urge those talented ones forward. If
my little girl, who detests application to study of
any sort, were to join this class, the basic idea
would be ruined. The class would be held back
by one delinquent. But I appreciate your motive
in suggesting a way that I might enjoy the companionship
of Elizabeth so often, without the
tyranny and incompatibility of her mother’s
temper.’
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Ashby colored, as he thought he had been
diplomatic in his hint,” concluded Mr. Fabian.
“So now it is settled that Ruth Ashby joins our
art class, this year, and we will meet at Mr. Dalken’s
rooms for our work. That is nice for you
girls, as it is only a short walk of a few blocks
from the Studio.”
</p>
<p>
“<em>Nice</em> for us—why, it is just scrumptious!” exclaimed
Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“And such a wonderful environment as that
library, will give us inspiration, too,” added Polly.
“I never <em>did</em> see such a kind man as Mr. Dalken!
If I had my way to accomplish it, I’d shower all
the joys and successes in heaven or earth upon his
generous heart.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225'></a>225</span>
</p>
<p>
“He <em>is</em> great and good, and it seems as if justice
must be sleeping, when such a man must
suffer alone because of a silly moth of a wife. If
he would only hearken to his friends and seek
freedom from such galling bonds! but he doesn’t
think divorce ever righted a wrong, and he still
hopes he can bring Mrs. Dalken to a sense of her
family-obligations and gratitude, for all she has
been so unselfishly given. Poor fellow!” Mr.
Fabian shook his head despondently over their
benefactor’s future.
</p>
<p>
“Polly and I never knew what was the trouble
in the Dalken family, Mr. Fabian, but what we
have seen and known of our dear friend, I’m sure
that <em>he</em> was never to blame for it,” said Eleanor,
defensively.
</p>
<p>
“I never care to gossip or to repeat a story,
children, but now I think you ought to know why
Mr. Dalken lives alone so much as he does. If
we are to use his rooms, you must know what a
magnificent character he is, and then should you
hear any disagreeable gossip that can be traced to
his wife, you will understand the situation.”
</p>
<p>
“Whatever you say, Mr. Fabian, will never be
repeated by either Nolla or me,” promised Polly,
solemnly.
</p>
<p>
“I know it, that is why I feel I ought to tell you.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226'></a>226</span>
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Dalken, as you know, is a descendant of
one of the oldest Dutch Settlers in America. His
family, from olden times down to the present day,
were patriotic and loyal Americans. He is as
staunch an American as you will find, anywhere.
</p>
<p>
“Mrs. Dalken was a poor girl, and not over-brilliant.
But Mr. Dalken admired her prettiness
when she was a young miss, and when he was but
a slip of a youth. They went to entertainments
together in the small town where they both lived,
and enjoyed each other’s company for two or three
years.
</p>
<p>
“Then the young man went to college and saw
the world. He realized how superficial Amy
Lathrop was, and as time went by, he would have
forgotten her completely, had she not kept up her
side of the correspondence. And gradually a suggestive
note crept into her letters.
</p>
<p>
“When his college days were over, young Dalken
returned to his birth-place to settle the country
estate that was his. Then he met Amy again, and
she found him so chivalrous that it was an easy
matter to give him to understand that she had
waited for him these five years—that she had been
the soul of faithfulness.
</p>
<p>
“Without consulting his friends, or mentioning
the matter to others in the town, he became engaged
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227'></a>227</span>
to her on the claim from her, that it had so
been understood before he went to college.
</p>
<p>
“Well, they were married, one day, and then
our poor friend’s martyrdom began. Amy Dalken
was of no use in anything or in any way. True,
she had two children, but it may have been much
better had she never become a mother. She had
no affection for them or the father, and only
thought of spending money and enjoying herself
to the utmost.
</p>
<p>
“Dalken was wealthy before he married Amy,
and his alert mind coupled with his unusual foresightedness
in finance soon rolled up fortunes for
him. His wife spent money like water, and was
sought after by the vultures of society—those who
fawn and fondle as long as they can get something
out of the victim.
</p>
<p>
“Mrs. Dalken’s balls and bridge-parties were
famous—I might say, notorious—for at the former
the extravagance was a matter of newspaper
comment, and at the latter, the stakes were so high
that others lifted their eyebrows at the losses and
gains.
</p>
<p>
“Little Billie Dalken was eighteen months old,
and the joy of our good friend’s life, when a
dreadful thing happened. Billie was a chubby,
handsome little chap exactly like his father—the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228'></a>228</span>
same intelligent brown eyes, the same fine features,
and he was unusually clever and large for
his age.
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Dalken had been called to Washington
on business one day, and that same day his wife
was about to give a grand dinner and bridge, later.
There were plenty of servants in the household,
but on such an occasion everyone was busy with
the extra work. Billie’s own nurse gave him his
supper and was about to put him to bed when she
discovered a wheezing sound in his throat. She
feared another attack of croup. She was about to
apply the remedies she knew of, when Mrs. Dalken’s
maid came to the nursery.
</p>
<p>
“‘The mistress says you are to go to her at
once and I am to sit with the baby for a while.
She wants her head massaged because it aches
so!’
</p>
<p>
“And the nurse answered as she thought proper,
‘Go and tell your mistress that Billie has a bad
cold and I must remain to take care of him.’
</p>
<p>
“The maid tossed her head and left the room.
She hadn’t any desire to remain with a baby, especially
if it was wheezing and beginning to cough.
So she may have exaggerated the reply somewhat.
However, that did not excuse Mrs. Dalken from
her next act. She was furious and sent the butler
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229'></a>229</span>
to the nursery to pay off the nurse and see that she
left the house at once!
</p>
<p>
“Then she sent the parlor-maid to sit in the
nursery with the child. That dinner was a great
success, but just before the card-party began, the
maid sent down word that Mrs. Dalken was to
come up to the nursery at once, and see what ailed
the baby—he was so red in the face and had a
fever, she said.
</p>
<p>
“Mrs. Dalken whispered a reply: ‘I’ll be up as
soon as I can get the tables started.’ Then she
never gave it another thought.
</p>
<p>
“Three times during that evening the frightened
parlor-maid sent down for the mother to
come up. And three times the hostess smiled and
nodded and then forgot all about the call. Before
midnight, the boy began choking and gagging and
the hysterical maid ran back and forth hoping to
find the butler, or someone, who would help in
this extremity.
</p>
<p>
“Every servant in the house was busy serving
drinks, cards, or cigarettes, and none had time to
call up a doctor. Then the daring maid telephoned
for a doctor she knew. But he lived so
far uptown that it took half an hour to arrive at
the house.
</p>
<p>
“Before he got there, little Billie Dalken was
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230'></a>230</span>
sleeping in the last long rest. No one was with
him but the parlor-maid when he strangled to
death; but the awful contortions of his face and
body showed the suffering he endured during the
convulsions.
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Dalken came home early in the morning,
the Washington business having been successfully
consummated without any loss of time. It was
not yet seven o’clock, but everyone in the house
seemed astir. The heavy fumes of smoke and the
aftermath of a riotous night’s play were evident
throughout the first floor rooms. He smiled sardonically
at it all, then rushed upstairs two steps
at a time to peep at his beloved children.
</p>
<p>
“Elizabeth was weeping fearfully in her little
crib that stood in the room connecting with the
nursery. The moment she saw her father she
screamed with relief.
</p>
<p>
“‘Oh, Daddy! Billie’s so twisted and queer—and
he won’t answer when I call him.’
</p>
<p>
“Poor Dalken had a sudden premonition of
catastrophe and rushed into the nursery. He almost
collapsed at what he saw there. A strange
woman was about to take up the stiff little form
and do for it what a loving mother should reverently
insist upon doing.
</p>
<p>
“The father, with a broken heart, took his beloved
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231'></a>231</span>
boy and prepared him for his last resting-place.
All through the three days elapsing after
the night of Billie’s death, Mrs. Dalken remained
locked in her boudoir, her maid seeing that the
smelling salts were handy whenever her lady called
for them. Between the visits of condolence from
her intimates, and the fittings of the deep mourning,
the mother was kept too busy to meet her
husband, or watch with the remains of her baby.
</p>
<p>
“But after the funeral (that also buried most
of Dalken’s joy in living) he insisted upon a serious
talk with his butterfly wife. She promised
everything, even to giving up her gambling games,
if he would but refrain from the publicity of the
cause of Billie’s death and the subsequent separation.
She used her sharpest weapon to gain her
point—Elizabeth.
</p>
<p>
“So several more months went by, but the poor
man was a mere money-machine in his own home.
Even his little daughter began to believe that
society was everything, and love or home-ties only
a necessity that interfered with one’s pet pleasures
and freedom.
</p>
<p>
“Without consulting her husband, Mrs. Dalken
planned to visit Europe with a party of friends.
To keep her grasp on her money-supplier she took
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232'></a>232</span>
Elizabeth with her. A nurse looked after the girl.
She remained abroad for more than a year, and
when she returned she went directly to a fashionable
hotel instead of seeing that her home was reopened
in New York.
</p>
<p>
“She had ordered everything swathed and
packed for the time she was abroad, and had left
but two rooms livable for the owner and master
of the magnificent dwelling.
</p>
<p>
“Dalken lived there in gloomy sorrow for a few
months and finally his friends insisted upon his
going to the Club where he could meet cheerful
companions and stop brooding over his irreparable
loss.
</p>
<p>
“Mrs. Dalken was in no hurry to reopen her
home, and all that Winter she remained at the
hotel, while her husband stopped at his club. She
allowed him to call upon her two or three times
a week, when others were present, and she not
only accepted all the checks he offered her, but
ran up fearful debts everywhere. He was permitted
to take Elizabeth out at certain times, but
Mrs. Dalken was clever enough to keep hold on
the girl, as she knew it was her only hope of keeping
her clutch on her provider.
</p>
<p>
“Just after the Holidays, that season, she went
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233'></a>233</span>
to Palm Beach, but she entered Elizabeth in a
boarding school out of the city. Dalken tried,
in many ways, to learn where his child was, but
he had no success in his search.
</p>
<p>
“Then he wired his wife that she must turn
over the girl to him while she was running around,
or he would instantly stop her income and sue her
for desertion. Then she came back to New York
and took Elizabeth out of school again, but matters
got worse and worse for poor Dalken.
Finally his dear friends, who loved him for what
he was and is, persuaded him to sue for a legal
separation. They hoped Mrs. Dalken would turn
over the girl whom she had no natural love for, to
the father, as a hostage.
</p>
<p>
“But she was a wise woman, by this time. She
accepted the separation without demur, but refused
to give up Elizabeth. It was then agreed
that the girl might choose which one of the parents
she preferred to live with. Having had so many
years of life with her mother, the girl became like
her—selfish, vain, and arrogant. No love or
gratitude was found in her character.
</p>
<p>
“Just at this time, Mr. Dalken was taken very
ill, and his mother (who is a dear, you will find,
when you meet her) came from England to nurse
him. He was ill for more than a year, so Elizabeth
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234'></a>234</span>
chose to remain with her mother for the time
being.
</p>
<p>
“Mrs. Dalken, Senior, took her only child back
to England with her, as soon as he could travel,
and there she kept him well-nursed and cared for,
in her cousin’s English country-house, until he had
regained his strength and fairly good health.
Then mother and son went to the Continent to
visit the scenes of the famous battle-fields, and
then on to the Riviera for a month.
</p>
<p>
“The wise mother knew that taking Mr. Dalken’s
thoughts from his own miserable state, and
making him think of other’s woes, would the
sooner brace him up to face his life-problem. And
so it was.
</p>
<p>
“Elizabeth elected to remain with her frivolous
mother but Mr. Dalken supports her handsomely,
and often bribes her to spend an afternoon or
evening with him, by having a valuable gift awaiting
her coming. Mr. Ashby, and other friends,
have advised Dalken against this pernicious way
of baiting the inclinations of the girl, but he says
they do not know his heart-hunger, and so cannot
judge his actions.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Mr. Fabian! Our poor, dear Mr. Dalken!”
sobbed Polly, when the speaker had ended
his story.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235'></a>235</span>
</p>
<p>
“If I ever meet that horrid woman I shall tear
her hair out, I know I shall!” wept Eleanor,
vehemently.
</p>
<p>
“If only we could do something, Nolla, to make
up to our dear Dalk, for all his sorrow,” sighed
Polly, drying her eyes.
</p>
<p>
“You can love him the more for this story,
girls, but do not refer to it, as he is still tender
over his loss.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236'></a>236</span><a name='chXV' id='chXV'></a>CHAPTER XV—THE FOUNDLING</h2>
<p>
The sad story told the girls, about their friend
Mr. Dalken, filled them with love and compassion
for the great-hearted man, and they wondered
how they could do <em>something</em> for him that
would not only show their appreciation of his
kindness to them, but at the same time give him
pleasure or happiness. But there seemed no material
thing that he needed, and really, nothing
that one could do for him.
</p>
<p>
“There must be times when he sits alone brooding
over his boy and how different things might
have been had he married a different type of
woman,” remarked Eleanor, one evening, after
leaving their new class-room.
</p>
<p>
“Yes; but it seems to me he should have been
able to see through such a shallow thing as that
woman must have been, when he returned from
college and found her apparently waiting for
him,” Polly replied.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237'></a>237</span>
</p>
<p>
“But he’s so tender-hearted, you see, he couldn’t
bear to give her any pain or trouble. That must
have been the only reason why he allowed her to
get him.”
</p>
<p>
“I suppose so. Why, even now, he is an easy
prey to the scheming people who know he has
barrels of money, and who simply pretend to be
friendly for what they can get out of him.”
</p>
<p>
“It’s too bad he can’t be satisfied with just Mr.
Ashby and Mr. Fabian for man friends, and we
few women for his women friends,” mused Eleanor.
“We’d love him for himself.”
</p>
<p>
Polly smiled. “Wouldn’t you and I give him a
gay time—with high-school keeping us employed
every week-day, and art class every other night in
the week, to say nothing of lectures, exhibitions,
and other things that Mr. Fabian has us do, in
line with our work.”
</p>
<p>
The two girls had crossed Madison and Fourth
avenues by this time, and were slowly walking
down the street towards the Studio. It was
a beautiful Fall night, and the moon was almost
full, hence they were in no hurry to reach home
and go indoors.
</p>
<p>
“I hear Anne singing—she must have company,”
said Polly as they neared the house.
</p>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i004' id='i004'></a>
<img src="images/illus-238.jpg" alt="HE WAS A CHUBBY LITTLE FELLOW." title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>HE WAS A CHUBBY LITTLE FELLOW.</span>
</div>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238'></a>238</span></div>
<p>
“Yes; the windows are open in the living-room,
and I can peep under the shades and see Anne at
the piano,” whispered Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
Just then the breeze wafted one of the shades
back from the window, and the girls recognised
Mrs. Evans and Mrs. Latimer as the guests of
Anne.
</p>
<p>
“Let’s hurry in!” exclaimed Eleanor, suddenly
turning from the front window and darting into
the vestibule.
</p>
<p>
The outside door was open wide, and as Eleanor
ran up the one step that raised the tiled entrance
from the sidewalk, she stumbled over a
soft bundle that seemed pushed against the wall.
</p>
<p>
By this time, Polly also reached the vestibule,
but the inside door being closed and locked for
protection, it was too dark in the vestibule for
either of the girls to see what the huge bundle
contained.
</p>
<p>
“It feels like a bundle of old clothes. Maybe
some servant hid it here for a time—she may be
going to come back for it,” observed Eleanor,
prodding the bundle with her foot.
</p>
<p>
But to the surprise of both girls, a little squeal
issued from the roll. In the semi-darkness, they
stood spell-bound and gazed at each other.
</p>
<p>
“It’s a baby—of all things!” cried Polly, hastily
trying the handle of the door.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239'></a>239</span>
</p>
<p>
“Ring—ring the bell like mad. I’ll pick it up!”
Eleanor exclaimed, excitably.
</p>
<p>
“Open the door—Anne—hurry up! We’ve
found a baby!” called Polly, leaning over the iron
rail that projected over the area door, in front
of the windows.
</p>
<p>
Both girls forgot that they had latch keys, but
Mrs. Evans sat nearest the window where Polly
stood, and quickly answered her call. Eleanor,
meanwhile, had carefully picked up the rolled-up
baby and, the moment the door was flung open,
carried it indoors.
</p>
<p>
“Where did you find it?” exclaimed four
amazed women.
</p>
<p>
“Right at our door—in the vestibule,” said
Eleanor, placing her bundle on the divan and proceeding
to open it.
</p>
<p>
“Wasn’t anyone in sight?” asked Mrs. Latimer,
cautiously.
</p>
<p>
“Not that we noticed; but, of course, we never
thought to look, when we found what was in the
bundle,” explained Polly, nervously eager to assist
Eleanor in what she was doing.
</p>
<p>
Before the swaddling blankets were released
from the baby, it began to utter baby-talk. The
females, grouped closely in front of the divan,
smiled appreciatively.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240'></a>240</span>
</p>
<p>
Finally the last wrapper, which was of mosquito
netting, came off, and there lay a chubby little fellow
of about fifteen months. He had a fist in his
mouth, and with the other dimpled hand he
clutched at Polly’s hair as she leaned over him.
</p>
<p>
“Oh! Isn’t he a darling! He must belong to
a neighbor!” exclaimed Mrs. Stewart.
</p>
<p>
“He certainly is not starved or poorly cared
for,” added Mrs. Evans, with experienced voice.
</p>
<p>
“But he only has on his nightie! Not another
stitch to be found,” said Anne, carefully rolling
the baby over to see if he had any clothes under
him.
</p>
<p>
“There’s a note—pinned on the blanket!” cried
Polly, anxiously removing the pin and taking the
paper over to the light.
</p>
<p>
“It says—just one word—‘Billy.’ Did you
ever!” exclaimed Polly, glancing from one to the
other of the friends who were waiting expectantly
to hear about the boy.
</p>
<p>
“Let’s see!” demanded Eleanor, frowning at
such a short explanation.
</p>
<p>
Polly handed the slip of paper to her friend and
joined Anne at the divan where she was divesting
the boy of his nightie to see if further clues might
be found. About his fat neck was a very fine gold
chain, and suspended from that was a tiny flat
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241'></a>241</span>
heart-shaped locket. It did not open, but on the
plain gold face was a monogram of three letters:
B— D— W—.
</p>
<p>
“Now we’ve got something to work on! ‘B’
stands for Billy, of course, but what can ‘D’ and
‘W’ mean?” Eleanor said excitedly.
</p>
<p>
“No child is christened ‘Billy,’” Anne contradicted.
“He would be ‘William’—and that is
what the ‘W’ is for. Children are nicknamed
‘Billy’ or ‘Willy’ later. Now his middle and last
name must begin with the ‘B’ and ‘D’—or vice
versa.”
</p>
<p>
“Shake out the blankets carefully—perhaps
another paper is pinned to one of them,” said
Polly, eagerly.
</p>
<p>
But there was no other message in the blankets.
</p>
<p>
“Let’s take off his flannel shirt! There may be
something there,” ventured Mrs. Stewart.
</p>
<p>
In less than a minute, the pins were out and the
woven shirt of Merino was removed, but no further
information rewarded the anxious seekers.
So the shirt was carefully replaced and the boy’s
nightie slipped over his head again.
</p>
<p>
“It’s all hand-made of fine linen,” remarked
Mrs. Latimer, as she felt of the hem at the bottom.
</p>
<p>
“And one can see that he is no slum child,”
added Mrs. Evans.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242'></a>242</span>
</p>
<p>
“<em>Who</em> can he be? and why should anyone want
to leave him?” were the perplexing questions Polly
asked of the others.
</p>
<p>
They all shook their heads and wondered. But
the boy had no use for such condolences; he
crawled over the divan and when he found not
what he was in search of, he screwed up his
dimpled face and began a lusty call.
</p>
<p>
Anne instantly took him up and began to chirp
to him. He smiled a cheerful thanks and showed
eight little front teeth. That brought all his new
friends to his feet—metaphorically speaking.
</p>
<p>
“<em>Isn’t</em> he a dear!” declared Mrs. Stewart to no
one in particular.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, but we have to advertise him at once. It
may be that a villain kidnapped him and ran away
with him just to get a reward. He may have been
seen, or chased by the police, and then dropped
the baby in our vestibule,” said Mrs. Latimer.
</p>
<p>
Anne laughed. “Which analysis shows that one
of us married a lawyer—Mrs. Latimer gives us
good advice.”
</p>
<p>
“Or he may belong to a young mother who cannot
longer earn a living for him,” added Mrs.
Stewart.
</p>
<p>
“That’s not likely, mother,” returned Anne.
“As the child would look thin and sickly if a
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243'></a>243</span>
mother found it hard to support it. I rather think
it is a babe that belongs to some distracted mother
in the neighborhood. He has evidently been put
to bed for the night. Possibly a vindictive nurse-girl
took him from his home to make his parents
seek for him and then left him at the most convenient
door.”
</p>
<p>
“Anne’s reason sounds the most plausible, and
we’d better ’phone the police-stations at once.
Billy’s parents may even now be wild with despair,
for we do not know how long he was in the vestibule.
All we know is, he was not there when we
came in, about eight o’clock,” said Mrs. Evans.
</p>
<p>
So she telephoned the police-stations, near by,
and also asked the morning papers to run a short
notice under a suitable caption. Before she had
finished this work, however, Master Billy began
his complaints again, and now he was beginning to
look as impatient as such a good-natured baby
could.
</p>
<p>
“Maybe he’s hungry?” suddenly suggested Mrs.
Stewart.
</p>
<p>
“That’s just what ails him—but we haven’t any
bottle!” exclaimed Mrs. Evans.
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps he drinks from a cup—he is old
enough to have been weaned, you know,” ventured
Mrs. Latimer.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244'></a>244</span>
</p>
<p>
A cup of warmed milk was brought in short
order, and Mrs. Stewart held it out to Anne, as
she was still holding the baby. The moment Billy
saw the cup, he almost leaped from Anne’s arms,
and immediately began gurgling for very glee.
</p>
<p>
Everyone laughed at his antics, and Anne was
about to hold the cup to his lips, when two fat
hands clutched at it in a hungry endeavor to reach
the contents. Of course, part of the milk spilled
on his nightie but the remainder he drank greedily.
</p>
<p>
“He’s well-trained—whoever he is. I should
say that he has had every attention in the past, to
have him act like this at his age,” said Mrs.
Latimer.
</p>
<p>
“But we don’t know how old he is. He may be
months older than we thought for,” argued Mrs.
Evans.
</p>
<p>
“Well, he isn’t more than eighteen months at
the most,” declared Mrs. Stewart.
</p>
<p>
Polly and Eleanor stood silently by listening to
these experienced mothers, but Anne smiled indulgently
at them, and kept her opinions to herself.
</p>
<p>
Dr. Evans and Mr. Latimer stopped for their
wives, and when they had heard and been shown
the fine boy, they gave their masculine opinions.
</p>
<p>
“A baby who was boarded out, and the parents
hadn’t paid up recently. So the woman left him
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245'></a>245</span>
on the first door-step to get rid of him,” was the
doctor’s verdict.
</p>
<p>
“There spoke the doctor who knows of such
cases,” said Anne.
</p>
<p>
“That isn’t it, however,” remarked Mr. Latimer.
“I am of the opinion that this child is of
wealthy parentage. He likely is a stumbling-block
for some heirs, who wish him safely out of the
way so they may claim the estate.”
</p>
<p>
Anne laughed again. “There speaks the attorney.
But you should have had the jealous heirs
remove this monogramed locket before they tried
to get rid of all evidence of a barrier to their
inheritance.”
</p>
<p>
“Reckon we’d better stop romancing and put
Billy to bed,” said Polly, in a matter-of-fact voice.
</p>
<p>
Her common sense caused a general laugh, and
Dr. Evans added: “Well, ladies! Come on, if
we are to get home to-night.”
</p>
<p>
With a last look at the sleepy cherub, and a
good-night to the friends living in the Studio, the
four New Yorkers went out.
</p>
<p>
“Where shall he sleep to-night?” asked Anne.
</p>
<p>
“Let me have him?” cried Polly.
</p>
<p>
“Oh—I found him first—let me have him,”
begged Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“No, girls; babies should sleep absolutely alone.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246'></a>246</span>
I will get a drawer from the high-boy and
rig him up a nice little bed therein. To-morrow
night he will be in his own home, most likely,”
explained Mrs. Stewart.
</p>
<p>
So saying, she hurried upstairs, and in a short
time returned, carrying the drawer. Anne and
the two girls helped cushion it softly, and then
they placed Billy in it.
</p>
<p>
He was asleep almost before the bed was ready,
and the moment his head sank into the soft pillow,
he closed his eyes.
</p>
<p>
“He seems unusually good, Anne,” ventured
Mrs. Stewart, as the four foster mothers stood
gazing down at the flushed little baby-face.
</p>
<p>
“And very pretty for a young child,” added
Anne.
</p>
<p>
“Well,” sighed Polly, “I suppose we’ll have to
hand him back in the morning.”
</p>
<p>
“Some time during the night, most likely,”
grumbled Eleanor. “The police will tell his folks
where he is, and they will be at our door ten minutes
later.”
</p>
<p>
But no one called for Billy, that night, and in
the morning the papers told the story of the foundling.
A minute description of his appearance and
clothing was given, and the telephone number of
the family where he was to be found. Mrs.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247'></a>247</span>
Evans had wisely refrained from giving any names
of the tenants of the Studio.
</p>
<p>
Before seven o’clock that morning, the telephone
began ringing. Anne answered it, but described
the baby left on their door-step differently
from what the anxious mother on the other end
of the wire had expected.
</p>
<p>
By eight-thirty, the telephone had called Anne
or Polly five times. At last Polly said: “My
goodness! how can five mothers lose boys like ours
in one evening? Can’t they take care of them?”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor then said, “Why, in Chicago, there are
records of more than a score of babies lost every
day. Most of them find their parents again, but
lots of them don’t.”
</p>
<p>
“What happens to the poor tots who can’t find
their folks again?” asked Polly, horrified.
</p>
<p>
“They go to the orphan asylum—or the Children’s
Home.”
</p>
<p>
With a gasp, Polly glanced at their laughing
little Billy. Then she looked anxiously at her
three companions. They had all thought of the
same thing, it seems.
</p>
<p>
“I just couldn’t let him go to a foundling home,”
Polly whimpered.
</p>
<p>
“We can afford to keep him, Polly. You and
I can adopt him,” declared Eleanor.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248'></a>248</span>
</p>
<p>
But Anne did not seem to approve of the plan.
She shook her head as she gazed at the curly-haired
boy who was banging the breakfast table
with a teaspoon. “That would never do for you,
girls.”
</p>
<p>
But another ring on the telephone interrupted
further argument on that subject. Anne described
Billy all over again—“Large brown eyes,
very soft silky hair—yellow and curly. About
thirty pounds weight, eight front teeth, aged about
sixteen months.”
</p>
<p>
Before she had completed her description of the
foundling, the distracted mother at the other end
of the wire sighed: “He’s not mine—thank
you.”
</p>
<p>
“Polly and I are not going to school this morning,
Anne,” Eleanor now informed the young
teacher.
</p>
<p>
“I don’t see why not?” demanded she.
</p>
<p>
“First, your mother can’t be chasing back and
forth to the ’phone all day; and secondly, we do
not propose having a stranger calling and stealing
our baby. Unless the parents present perfectly
satisfactory evidence that Billy is theirs, no one
shall get him.”
</p>
<p>
Anne smiled, but seeing that it was almost nine
o’clock, she consented to the two girls remaining
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249'></a>249</span>
home that session; furthermore, she promised to
explain to Mrs. Wellington about the magnet that
had kept them at home.
</p>
<p>
Later in the morning, Dr. Evans stopped in to
see if any one had called for the baby. Polly and
Eleanor were in the midst of giving Billy his bath
in the large tub. Such laughing and shouting had
never been heard in that bathroom before. Even
Mrs. Stewart laughed in sympathy, as she told the
doctor what a fine well-behaved child Billy was.
</p>
<p>
“I’ll call again this evening, Mrs. Stewart. If
he has not been claimed by that time, I will see
what I can do to relieve you of his care.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh—he is no care whatever, doctor; and I
doubt whether the girls will consent to your taking
him to a home—for a few days, at any rate. They
think someone will call for him.”
</p>
<p>
“But you haven’t any clothes or other necessities
for him, have you?” asked the doctor.
</p>
<p>
“We didn’t have at first, but Nolla and Polly
ran to a department store on Fifth avenue—it’s
only a few blocks over, you know,—and bought
him everything he needs. When he had his shoes
on he stood up and began walking about while
he held fast to the chairs. He certainly is a bright
child.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, the girls ought not to go silly over him.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250'></a>250</span>
Buying clothes and shoes and everything—until
they know who he is.”
</p>
<p>
“If no one ever calls, Billy has to have clothes;
anyway, we thought we ought to get them, now,
instead of later.”
</p>
<p>
“I can see, Mrs. Stewart, that you are as foolish
about the baby, as the two girls are themselves,”
laughed Dr. Evans, as he took up his hat to depart.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Stewart laughed, but the moment the doctor
was out of the front door, she hurried upstairs
to help dress the boy after his bath.
</p>
<p>
Once he was dressed in his new clothing, and
had had a full cup of warm milk and gruel, he
cuddled down for his nap.
</p>
<p>
“Now, no use talking! he is a wonder!” declared
Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“We can keep him, as well as not. He isn’t one
mite of trouble,” added Polly.
</p>
<p>
Having waited until Billy was fast asleep, Mrs.
Stewart tip-toed from the bedroom, beckoning the
girls to follow her out.
</p>
<p>
The police-department had sent their detective
to get all the facts from Eleanor and Polly, and
the press had sent to find out if there was any
other clue or information about the boy; then, no
further interruptions took place that day.
</p>
<p>
The two girls sat out under the locust tree in
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251'></a>251</span>
the yard, because there they could hear the first
whimper from Billy, when he awoke from his nap.
As they sat there, they discussed his future.
</p>
<p>
“If no one ever calls for him, what <em>shall</em> we do
with him?’ asked Polly, giving Eleanor a penetrating
look.
</p>
<p>
“You’ve got something on your mind—what is
it?” countered Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, I have, but I want to hear what <em>you</em> have
to say.”
</p>
<p>
“I’d love to keep him, Polly—at least as long
as we are in New York. I suppose it would be impossible
to take him abroad with us, next summer,”
returned Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Yes—impossible. And if we keep him with
us, we will have to hire a nurse-maid, as poor Mrs.
Stewart can’t look after a lively youngster all day,
while we are at school.”
</p>
<p>
“What was your idea, then?” wondered
Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Can’t you guess, Nolla? And his name is
Billy, too!”
</p>
<p>
For an instant Eleanor’s face looked too surprised
to allow her to speak. Then she stammered:
“Well—of all things!”
</p>
<p>
“What do you make of it?” laughed Polly.
</p>
<p>
“Wonderful—but what is your plan?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252'></a>252</span>
</p>
<p>
“Seeing his name is Billy, and his eyes are dark
brown and his hair golden curls, and he is about
sixteen months old—all of which are in his favor
to advance my little scheme, I should say that we
try to keep him a few weeks, right now, and see if
we can add to Billy’s winsome ways. Meanwhile,
we will use every effort to find if he has any relatives;
then should he be a veritable foundling, we
will present him to dear Mr. Dalken for his very
own.”
</p>
<p>
“Splendiferous! Perfectly great!” cried Eleanor,
slapping her friend on the back in her delight.
</p>
<p>
“We will quietly advertise for and select a fine
elderly nurse for Billy, right off, and when we
have him all ready to be given away, he will be a
little wonder that no one can refuse.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Mr. Dalken won’t think of refusing him,
I know! He will be so happy to have a boy
again,” Eleanor said, enthusiastically.
</p>
<p>
Several times during the day, the telephone rang
and someone asked for a description of the baby.
Also a number of wild looking people called at the
address to have a look at the child, but all departed
with forlorn hopes.
</p>
<p>
As that night was not a class-evening, the girls
were free to do as they liked with their time. Anne
and her mother were amusing themselves, as much
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253'></a>253</span>
as the baby, by teaching him to say ‘Billy.’ Polly
and Eleanor were eagerly watching results. But
harshly upon this sweet scene, the door-bell
jangled.
</p>
<p>
“I’ll go!” called Eleanor, and in another minute
she had opened the door.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Mr. Fabian. Do come in and see our
baby!”
</p>
<p>
Then another admirer joined the circle of worshippers
around Billy’s feet. Mr. Fabian had
heard the story from Dr. Evans and dropped in
to see if the boy was still with his friends.
</p>
<p>
“He is a dear little shaver, isn’t he?” laughed
Mr. Fabian. “But what will you do with him if
no one claims him?”
</p>
<p>
“We really haven’t thought of that,” said Anne.
</p>
<p>
“I’m afraid, if we keep him here with us a week,
or more, we won’t want to give him up again,”
added Mrs. Stewart.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian saw, from the corner of his eye,
that Polly was behind him trying to draw his attention.
So he managed to turn his head without
attracting Anne’s or Mrs. Stewart’s attention, and
saw the two girls shake their heads wisely, meantime
their fingers rested upon their lips in sign of
keeping silence.
</p>
<p>
Consequently no more was said, that evening,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254'></a>254</span>
about Billy, and when Mr. Fabian was ready to
leave, Polly and Eleanor said they believed they
would walk to the corner with their old friend.
The baby had been in bed for some time, and
Anne was busy writing manuscript, so no one objected
to the proposal. Mrs. Stewart merely
remarked: “Don’t go any farther than the corner,
dearies. And hurry right back home.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255'></a>255</span><a name='chXVI' id='chXVI'></a>CHAPTER XVI—BILLY FINDS A FATHER</h2>
<p>
The moment the two girls had Mr. Fabian outside
of the Studio, where they could talk in perfect
freedom, they told him of their secret plan.
</p>
<p>
“We are going to keep the baby for a few weeks
and see that he is perfectly trained, then we are
going to present him to dear Mr. Dalken,” began
Polly, eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, but we will try and find a sensible woman
who will take all care of him, and Mr. Dalken
can enjoy Billy when he is at home with nothing
else to do,” added Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian was speechless, then he smiled.
“Does our friend know about this?”
</p>
<p>
“Mercy sakes, no! We want to surprise him.
We thought it would be fine, if we could keep the
baby that long, to leave him at Mr. Dalken’s
apartment on Thanksgiving morning,” returned
Polly.
</p>
<p>
“Don’t you think he would like that?” from
Eleanor, eagerly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256'></a>256</span>
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Dalken is now out west on important business,
so of course, he doesn’t know a thing about
Billy, unless he read about it in the New York
papers,” remarked Mr. Fabian, thoughtfully. “I
don’t suppose he will take time to glance over
every news item in the papers, as he is too preoccupied,
at present, with the financial pages.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, what has that to do with our plan?”
asked Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“He won’t know a thing about the baby, and
you can easily keep the idea secret until Thanksgiving,
if you can get the right kind of a woman
to take daily care of the boy. Of course, you
were going to do that, anyway, were you
not?”
</p>
<p>
“I suppose so—we really hadn’t got as far as
that in our planning,” admitted Polly.
</p>
<p>
“But we will, Mr. Fabian, now that you have
mentioned it. How shall we know if we have the
right sort of nurse?” added Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“I’ll call up Ashby. I was there for dinner to-night,
and they told me of a woman they know
well, who is compelled to earn her living, because
of family reverses. Shall we stop in the hotel
across the street and use the booth there?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, yes! Let’s, Mr. Fabian!” exclaimed
Eleanor.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257'></a>257</span>
</p>
<p>
“No time like the present when you have any
important work to do,” added Polly.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian left the door of the telephone booth
slightly ajar so the two girls could assist in the
conversation. He soon had Mr. Ashby’s house
number and asked if Mr. or Mrs. Ashby were in.
</p>
<p>
Shortly thereafter a man’s voice was heard talking
on the wire. “Is this Fabian—oh, yes. What
can I do for you, old man?”
</p>
<p>
Then Mr. Fabian replied: “Why, I called
upon my girls at the Studio this evening, after I
left you, and I found the most astonishing addition
to their family circle. A little baby boy was left
on their door-step, it seems. A fine little fellow,
too.
</p>
<p>
“So far, no one has called to claim him, and
should no one come, the two girls have a plan to
place him in a good home. They told me all about
it, and I rather approve of the idea, too. But
what they need, at once, is an experienced, capable
woman to take care of the boy, until Thanksgiving
Day—perhaps after that, if she is found to be
satisfactory.
</p>
<p>
“I thought, at once, of that woman that Mrs.
Ashby and you were speaking of, at table, to-night.
Do you suppose she would consider a position as
second-mother to a baby?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258'></a>258</span>
</p>
<p>
The girls strained their ears to hear the reply
but Mr. Ashby spoke too low, and they could but
judge what he said by Mr. Fabian’s words afterward.
</p>
<p>
“Fine! If Mrs. Ashby will not consider it too
much trouble. And she will bring Martha down
to-morrow afternoon when the girls are home
from school?”
</p>
<p>
Polly and Eleanor smiled with relief, and Mr.
Fabian said over the ’phone, “All right! Thanks,
Ashby. And thank your wife for the two girls,
too, who are waiting here for the verdict.”
</p>
<p>
As the three left the hotel again, Mr. Fabian
said: “Now that much is satisfactorily settled for
you, and Billy shall have a good woman to look
after him, if he is still unclaimed to-morrow afternoon.”
</p>
<p>
The girls were altogether too inexperienced to
realize that it was curious how easily the Ashbys,
Mr. Dalken’s most intimate friends, and Mr.
Fabian agreed to such a strange plan as trying to
saddle a foundling baby on a man who lived a
hermit’s life when in his own home.
</p>
<p>
They never questioned the readiness with which
these friends accepted their proposition, but they
were delighted at the “lucky chance” that brought
a woman to Mrs. Ashby on the very day that they
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259'></a>259</span>
began to think of employing a woman-nurse for
the baby.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian walked back to the Studio door
with them, smiling at their dreams of future bliss
for Mr. Dalken. In fact, their thoughts traveled
so far into the future, that they saw Billy a fine
young man and Mr. Dalken, white-haired and
bent, depending on his beloved adopted son for
everything.
</p>
<p>
The four inmates of the Studio were not aware
that they had been kept singularly free from constant
annoyance from reporters and police. Nor
did they realize that the short news article that had
appeared in the papers, had been a wonderful
story to catch the eyes of curious readers, but
<em>some</em>one in authority had ordered it “cut” to an
inch.
</p>
<p>
The afternoon following Mr. Fabian’s visit to
the girls, they hurried home from school and
found Mrs. Ashby’s car in front of the house.
They quickly entered the front door and greeted
her with a smiling welcome.
</p>
<p>
“I see you have Billy in hand, already,” laughed
Polly.
</p>
<p>
“Yes; isn’t he a friendly little fellow?” replied
Mrs. Ashby.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260'></a>260</span>
</p>
<p>
“Wonderful! We never knew babies were so
easy to live with,” added Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Mrs. Stewart took Martha upstairs to show
her how you managed for the baby. He may need
extra things, or other conveniences,” suggested
Mrs. Ashby.
</p>
<p>
Even as she spoke, the sound of steps was heard
descending the front stairs, and soon after, Mrs.
Stewart led Martha in, and introduced her to
Polly and Eleanor. The girls liked the refined
look and quiet sensible words and manners of the
nurse-to-be.
</p>
<p>
“Isn’t it splendid that Martha should have been
relieved, last week, of just such a position as we
now need her for? She was in the country taking
charge of a baby of about this boy’s age, but some
friends came and took him away, so she was free
to find another position,” explained Mrs. Ashby.
</p>
<p>
Martha handled Billy as if she was an expert,
and the boy crowed and tried to talk to her, as if
he had known her all his life.
</p>
<p>
“I never saw a friendlier baby than this one.
He smiles and is contented with anybody, and that
will make it fine for Martha,” remarked Mrs.
Stewart.
</p>
<p>
So it was immediately decided to retain Martha
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261'></a>261</span>
during the day, but she would have to find a place
to lodge, nearby and leave Billy with the girls
during the night. This pleased them well, for
they did not wish to relinquish all rights of attendance
on their baby to a stranger.
</p>
<p>
“I may as well remain for the rest of this afternoon,
Madam,” said Martha, speaking to Mrs.
Ashby, “as I have no other place to go.”
</p>
<p>
“How about seeking for a room in the neighborhood
and taking it to-day? You may not have
a free half hour, like this, again,” suggested Mrs.
Ashby.
</p>
<p>
Martha silently acquiesced but she cast a
troubled gaze at the child; when Eleanor picked
him up by the arms, she immediately corrected the
mistake, by saying, “Miss, you should always hold
a baby at his age, about the waist—a hand on each
side of him. <em>Never</em> by the arms!”
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Ashby offered to drive Martha about to
hunt up a furnished room, so the girls said good-by
to their callers.
</p>
<p>
That evening was school-night again, and Mr.
Fabian was interested in hearing if Martha had
proved satisfactory. Even Ruth Ashby took a
personal interest in the baby-boy, now that Martha
was to be his nurse.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262'></a>262</span>
</p>
<p>
“Do you know Martha?” asked Polly, surprised.
</p>
<p>
“Of course. Wasn’t she mother’s nurse, years
ago?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh—I thought she was a lady of means who
had just lost everything,” remarked Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Well, it is this way. When mother was a little
mite Martha was a girl of about fourteen.
Grandma engaged her to push mother’s carriage
out for a walk every day. Then Martha grew
up and married and mother never saw her again,
for a long time.
</p>
<p>
“Her husband’s nephew came to live with them,
as Martha never had any children, but her nephew
grew up and married. Then Martha’s husband
died, and she went to live with the nephew and his
wife. They were well-to-do young people, and
Martha had an easy life there.
</p>
<p>
“They had a baby, and Martha took care of
him, as if she was his own mother. Then the
nephew enlisted in the war and was killed ‘over
there.’ His wife pined a lot, and during the epidemic
of the flu, last Winter, she took it and died,
too.
</p>
<p>
“That left Martha with the baby, but she hadn’t
a cent to live on, because there was only the money
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263'></a>263</span>
the baby ought to have had from the Government,
because of losing his father in battle. But Martha
didn’t understand how to go about getting it, and
when a friend of hers offered to find a good home
for the baby, the poor great-aunt consented. She
had no other choice, as she would have to work
herself, and could not be hampered by a little boy.
</p>
<p>
“Then she came to mother and that is how it all
happened.”
</p>
<p>
“I wonder what became of her grand-nephew?”
asked Polly.
</p>
<p>
“Mother begged of me not to mention it, and
never to refer to the past, when Martha was
about,” said Ruth, seriously.
</p>
<p>
“I suppose the poor thing misses her little
nephew so much!” observed Polly, sympathetically.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, that must be the reason,” agreed Ruth.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian listened attentively and approved
of Mrs. Ashby’s advice to her daughter.
</p>
<p>
No one came to claim Billy, and the days passed
swiftly for the self-appointed mothers of the boy.
He was so merry and good-natured a child, that
Mrs. Stewart sighed when she thought of the
Studio without him. Before November passed,
he could walk all alone and even tried to climb
the stairs.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264'></a>264</span>
</p>
<p>
Martha was a jewel with him. She never
seemed too tired to do things for him. She it was,
who taught him his table manners and insisted
upon his saying “Plee” and “Tant” for anything.
He could say “Dadda” and “Biddy”—the latter
meaning himself.
</p>
<p>
Polly and Eleanor spent every spare moment
teaching him new accomplishments, so that before
the middle of Thanksgiving month, the boy really
was unusually precocious and well-behaved.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Dalken returned to New York the third
week in November and immediately sent out cards
to his friends for a dinner-party. It was very
private, only the circle acquainted with Polly and
Eleanor were to be his guests. But they had a
good time, nevertheless, and Mr. Dalken appeared
more cheerful than of yore.
</p>
<p>
“Now what do you suppose I called you together
for?” said he, after the table had been
cleared of the roast and everyone was ready to
listen while waiting for salad.
</p>
<p>
“Dear me, I hope you are not going to spring
a sensational surprise on us!” Eleanor said, her
face expressing worry.
</p>
<p>
Everyone laughed, but Mr. Dalken said: “What
would you call a sensation?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, well! in case you were married while in
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265'></a>265</span>
Chicago! That would ruin my hopes,” interpolated
Polly, anxiously.
</p>
<p>
A general laugh greeted this, and Mr. Dalken
retorted:
</p>
<p>
“I hadn’t even dreamed of such a possibility,
but now that you plainly show me how you have
been hoping I would propose to you, I may as well
take my medicine like a man!”
</p>
<p>
“Me—you—propose! What <em>are</em> you talking
of?” cried Polly, aghast.
</p>
<p>
Everyone laughed teasingly, but Eleanor explained
quickly. “He misunderstood your reason
for worrying, Polly. Just like a man—they think
one is always thinking of marriage, even when
there are great charities being perfected.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Dalken now showed his surprise, and asked
what really was the cause of Polly’s anxiety.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, you’ll see some day. We can’t tell you
now!” laughed Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“Then I may as well confess to you-all and tell
you what my surprise is.
</p>
<p>
“I finished my business in Chicago much sooner
than I had hoped for, and went on to Pebbly Pit
to see how things were progressing. I had a delightful
visit at the ranch, and am able to say that
work has reached the point, now, where the mining
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266'></a>266</span>
machines will start working next week, unless
snow stops everything.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, then you saw father and mother!” cried
Polly, eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, and I have all sorts of good things for
you from home. A jar of preserves, and a dozen
or more of glasses filled with jelly and other delectable
sweets that Sary insisted that I carry to you.
I did my best to explain that it would be cheaper
and safer if she sent them by express or parcel
post—but no! She told me ‘A bird in th’ hand is
wuth two er three in a bush.’”
</p>
<p>
Polly and Eleanor instantly visualized Sary as
she made this remark, and they laughed merrily.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Dalken then repeated minutest details of
the work on Rainbow Cliffs, and the gold mine on
Grizzly Slide. As everything promised so well,
the girls felt elated at their future prospects.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Ashby wanted to know if his friend had
succeeded in buying any more stock for him, and
Mr. Dalken replied: “You’ll have to wait until
Latimer issues another block. No one I know of
will sell any of what they hold.”
</p>
<p>
The evening passed pleasantly with intimate
matters to speak of, and at last Anne said: “We
must be going, Mr. Dalken. The girls have one
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267'></a>267</span>
of their long class days, to-morrow, you know.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, and Martha will want to go to bed,”
added Mrs. Stewart.
</p>
<p>
“Who’s Martha? Got a servant at last?”
asked Mr. Dalken.
</p>
<p>
“Why, no, Martha—” Mrs. Stewart began innocently,
but the two girls wildly interrupted her.
Polly shouted unusually loud for her, “Oh, I am
so tired!”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor had managed to wink her eyes warningly
at Mrs. Stewart, and that lady realized that
she had almost “put her foot in it.” Mr. Dalken
noticed something was disturbing the two girls, but
he never dreamed what it was.
</p>
<p>
The following evening, at art class, Mr. Fabian
had news for the two girls. “Mr. Ashby has invited
Mr. Dalken to have his Thanksgiving Dinner
with his family, and that will give you the
opportunity you need, to get Billy settled in his new
home.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, how can we part from him!” sighed Eleanor,
wiping an eye, as she pictured the lonely
rooms.
</p>
<p>
“Yes—” sighed Polly, mournfully. “That’s
the worst of having a dog or a baby that you
become so fond of.”
</p>
<p>
“But you will see Billy three nights a week, and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268'></a>268</span>
you never could have kept him for yourselves,
you know,” said Mr. Fabian.
</p>
<p>
Thanksgiving Day Martha seemed all upset.
The idea of moving the baby to a new home, and
perhaps not being welcome, made her cry softly,
now and then. The little family at the Studio, instead
of being very grateful for all the blessings
they had had during the past year, went about
looking forlorn and miserable.
</p>
<p>
They went to the Latimers for dinner that noon,
and left Martha with the baby. It had been
planned that they would get back home by eight
o’clock and accompany their baby-gift over to Mr.
Dalken’s apartment. Billy would be placed in bed
where his new foster father would find him, and
then would come the joy of it all.
</p>
<p>
The plans worked out as expected to a certain
degree. Mr. Dalken went up to the Ashbys for
dinner, and a little after eight o’clock, a mournful
procession wended its way from the Studio door.
Martha carried Billy carefully. Polly and Eleanor
carried the tub, chair, and other articles of use
for the baby. Anne carried the bundles of clothing,
and Mrs. Stewart carried the milk-warmer,
the other food-equipment, and the extra blankets.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Dalken’s chauffeur opened the door to admit
the visitors, but when he saw the burdens the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269'></a>269</span>
ladies carried, he was speechless. Eleanor tried to
explain that they had a new boy for Mr. Dalken,
but Henri seemed not to appreciate the fact.
</p>
<p>
Billy was gurgling and trying to get his active
fists out of the quilted blanket, but Martha held
him firmly until she had him in the bedroom where
Mr. Dalken slept.
</p>
<p>
“We are going to leave him right in the middle
of this big bed, Henri, so his new father will find
him when he comes in to-night,” explained Eleanor,
arranging the baby’s bedding on the large
expanse of bed-spread.
</p>
<p>
Billy was arrayed for the night, and everyone
kissed him tearfully, as if he was about to be
placed in his coffin. Then Martha gave him a
drink of warm milk and placed him in his blankets.
</p>
<p>
Hardly had they tucked him up, before the bell
at the entrance rang imperatively. Henri glanced
distractedly at the baby and then at the other visitors,
before he turned to answer the call. It rang
a second time before he opened the door.
</p>
<p>
“Let’s turn down the light and hide behind the
velour portières,” whispered Anne, anxiously.
</p>
<p>
The five guilty members of the surprise-party
quickly hid themselves as best they could, but not
so soon, but that they heard Henri returning. He
was talking, and other voices were replying.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270'></a>270</span>
</p>
<p>
“I donno why the missee’s come in an’ fetch a
bebby. Dey say ‘He a big surprise,’ Mr.
Dalken.”
</p>
<p>
To the amazement of the hidden ones, Mr. Dalken’s
voice now replied: “Never mind, Henri.
I’ll be out with my visitors, in a moment. I only
want to get a handkerchief from the dresser.”
</p>
<p>
The five culprits saw him switch up the lights
and they then heard Billy welcome the unusual
privilege with a gurgle. Not a sound came from
the man who must have heard the baby-voice
and seen the occupant of his massive four-poster.
</p>
<p>
Polly could stand it no longer. She had to peep
out at what was going on. The first thing she saw,
was Eleanor’s head showing from the side of the
other portière. Both girls watched the scene with
bated breath.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Dalken stood beside the bed, looking down
at the little bundle that made a dent in the middle
of his comfortable mattress. Billy was waving
his fists invitingly, as if to say, “Come on and
fight!”
</p>
<p>
As the two girls watched him, Mr. Dalken
smiled and said: “So <em>you</em> are Billy Martin, are
you?”
</p>
<p>
The two eaves-droppers glanced at each other
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271'></a>271</span>
in consternation. “How and why did Mr. Dalken
call <em>their</em> baby Billy Martin?”
</p>
<p>
“Well, Billy, suppose we go out and see what
your Daddy thinks of you. For my part, I say
you’re just about perfect.” As Mr. Dalken
spoke, he carefully lifted the willing baby from the
bed and cuddled him in his arms. Then he went
from the room.
</p>
<p>
“Polly!” hissed Eleanor, anxiously, “did you
hear what he said?”
</p>
<p>
“S-sh! let us follow and see what’s the matter.
Someone came in with Mr. Dalken, you know,”
returned Polly in a low voice.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Stewart and Anne now crept from behind
the heavy window curtains and tip-toed after Polly
and Eleanor. And, last of all, Martha came from
behind the door and followed in the wake of the
other four. Then they heard Mr. Dalken talking.
</p>
<p>
“Well, here’s the boy, but how he ever got into
my rooms I cannot say. Mrs. Ashby will have to
explain that, in a minute, as she is the one who
seemed to know where to find Martha and the
baby.”
</p>
<p>
Martha was still in the hall and could not see
who was in the living-room with Mr. Dalken, but
the four conspirators now stood staring at the
group in the center of the lighted room.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272'></a>272</span>
</p>
<p>
Mr. and Mrs. Ashby were seated in comfortable
armchairs, smiling happily at the two standing
men and about to make the baby comfortable. He
had been transferred from Mr. Dalken’s arms to
those of a younger man who was trembling with
joy at beholding Billy’s smiling little face.
</p>
<p>
“There, now, Martin. Isn’t he worth living
for? You said you wanted to die, when you found
your wife was gone. But let me tell you, my boy,
this baby ought to make you brace up.” Mr. Dalken
patted the strange young man on the shoulder,
and just then Martha burst into the room.
</p>
<p>
“Jimmy! Oh, Jimmy—is it you, or is it someone
who looks like my dead Jimmy?”
</p>
<p>
“Aunt Martha—Dear Aunt Martha—it is your
own Jimmy. I was a long time coming home, but
here I am at last!”
</p>
<p>
Then Polly and Eleanor learned the true story
about their precious Billy who was, according to
them, to have adopted Mr. Dalken for a father.
</p>
<p>
“Girls, I appreciate your great sacrifice to try
and make me happy, for I have heard from the
Ashbys how much you wanted to keep Billy, but
you felt that he ought to belong to me. Seeing
that he came so near to being mine, I shall always
take a great interest in him and his relatives,”
began Mr. Dalken, while Jimmy Martin and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273'></a>273</span>
Martha went into the other room to be alone with
the baby.
</p>
<p>
“You see, Mrs. Ashby is at the bottom of this
plot and having roped in her husband to believe
just as she did, the next step was to make the whole
plan seem accidental.
</p>
<p>
“So, when Martha was left with the baby, she
called on Mrs. Ashby for help. Seeing that the
boy had brown eyes and was named Billy, my
anxious friend decided that he was what I ought
to have to cheer me. Martha was boarded in a
country home until I prepared to go west on my
business trip.
</p>
<p>
“Just about that time, you found an unknown
babe on your door-step, but had we been able to
look behind the scenes, I think you would have seen
the Ashby’s car down on the corner, and Martha
anxiously waiting to see if you took Billy in, all
right.
</p>
<p>
“After that, Billy made his own way with you
people, as he is apt to make it with everyone. And
what was so natural, as that you should fall in with
Mr. Fabian’s well-learned lesson. The Ashbys
made him memorize just what to say and to do it
every day.
</p>
<p>
“All went as had been planned, and my dear
friends here were so pleased with themselves at
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274'></a>274</span>
the little scheme, that they planned to return home
with me to-night and see how I liked the baby-surprise.
But this is where an unexpected and unknown
actor entered upon the stage.
</p>
<p>
“James Martin was not killed in battle. He
was wounded and taken prisoner by the Germans.
He was so dangerously injured that he was left to
die in a small town in the interior. But he managed
to pull through, and after many months of
convalescence, he worked his way from Germany
back to Paris.
</p>
<p>
“It took several months more to identify him
and get a passport for him to America. When he
went to his old home town to find his wife and
child, he learned that one was dead and the other
was taken away by the aunt. The shock sent him
to the county hospital again, and it was several
months before he could get out to start a hunt for
his boy.
</p>
<p>
“He learned where Martha had gone, and to-night,
James called at the house to ask Mrs. Ashby
if she knew anything about his boy and aunt. I
happened to be in the hall when he came in.
</p>
<p>
“So here we are, girls; you lose a protegé and
I lose a boy.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, but James wins back his boy again!” cried
Polly, delightedly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275'></a>275</span>
</p>
<p>
“I want to know, Mr. Dalken,” demanded Eleanor,
frowning, “did Ruth Ashby know the truth
about this when she told us that yarn about
Martha?”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Dalken laughed. “No, girls. Poor Ruth
is as upset about it as you could wish her to be.
She wants me to adopt Billy, anyway, even with
his real father on hand to claim him. I really
think Mrs. Ashby is the one we have to put
through the third degree on this whole plot.”
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Ashby looked up and smiled. “Well, I
told the truth about the matter, didn’t I? But I
refrained from telling Ruth that Martha was the
same woman who was aunt to Billy, and I withheld
the facts that Billy was the same baby that
you girls found on your door-step—that’s all.”
</p>
<p>
“That’s all——” laughed Mr. Dalken. “As if
that was not enough! To deprive me of the son
my two pet girls tried to place in my arms.”
</p>
<p>
Polly flung herself in his arms and hugged him
as she said, “Nolla and I will have to adopt you
ourselves, now.”
</p>
<p>
And he whispered in her ear, so only she could
hear: “You haven’t any idea how happy you girls
make me. I have found something in life worth
while, since I found all of these good friends.”
</p>
<p>
Then Mrs. Ashby said: “Dalk, you have been
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276'></a>276</span>
hunting for a reliable man and wife to take charge
of your apartment, so I think it is Providence that
sent Martha and James to you. You will have admirable
help in them and little Billy, too.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277'></a>277</span><a name='chXVII' id='chXVII'></a>CHAPTER XVII—POLLY AND ELEANOR LEAVE FOR EUROPE</h2>
<p>
“I do declare! here it is the first of May, and it
seems as if it were but yesterday that we came
back to New York to study,” exclaimed Eleanor,
as Polly and she were returning from art class one
evening.
</p>
<p>
“And we are no more decided about what we
shall do this Summer, than we were last Fall. If
only Dad would consent to our joining the Ashbys
and Mr. Fabian on the European trip, in
June,” returned Polly.
</p>
<p>
“I’m glad father says <em>I</em> may go if your father
consents. Of course we shall have to go, some
time or other, Polly, before we could settle down
as experienced decorators; but this is a fine opportunity—to
be members of a party of appreciative
people such as is seldom offered to young beginners
as we are.”
</p>
<p>
“Eleanor, have you thought of what we shall
do, next year of school, if Anne marries John?
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278'></a>278</span>
You know, Mrs. Stewart says she is going back to
Denver to keep house for Paul, as he will graduate
with the other boys, next month.”
</p>
<p>
“Uh-huh! John and Tom will settle down at
Pebbly Pit to superintend the mine and jewel cliffs,
and Paul will join the survey crew in Denver. I
suppose my brother Pete will be hanging about
them, somewhere, doing odd jobs, now and then.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor spoke in a half-humorous tone, but
Polly was in earnest.
</p>
<p>
“Well, then, if Anne is John’s wife, and Mrs.
Stewart in Denver, where do we fit in?”
</p>
<p>
“I’ve thought it all out, Polly—never fear! You
see Mr. Fabian expects to bring his wife and
daughter back to America this year, as Nancy has
finished her art studies abroad. If we make ourselves
agreeable to them, and then hint gently, on
the trip back home, that we have no place to live
in, the coming winter, they’ll take us right in with
them. How’d you like that!”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, it would be great, Nolla, but would it be
quite the proper thing for us to do—to throw ourselves
upon their hospitality?”
</p>
<p>
“Polly, they ought to be thankful to have two
such nice girls with them! To say nothing of our
eventually becoming the greatest interior decorators
of the present day,” exclaimed Eleanor, her
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279'></a>279</span>
well-shaped little head rearing itself in conscious
pride.
</p>
<p>
Polly laughed. “Well, Nolla, we will never
suffer for lack of self-esteem. Even if others declare
we know nothing, you will be able to keep the
family pride up to high-water mark. If we knew
but one-third of all you <em>think</em> we do, we could take
Mr. Ashby in partnership with us, now.”
</p>
<p>
“There’s another thing, Polly, that is a golden
opportunity for us. The idea of having a successful
decorator like Mr. Ashby plan to take us in his
business when we are through school, is enough to
turn anyone’s head. But not ours, Polly—we are
too sensible!”
</p>
<p>
Again Polly laughed at her friend’s meekness—so-called.
“Mr. Ashby may change his mind before
we are ready to accept his offer. We have two
years still in which to study, you know.”
</p>
<p>
“That will fly like these past two years have.
Why here we are only sixteen and just see all we
know!”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, and just see all we have yet to know!”
retorted Polly.
</p>
<p>
“I tell you what, those Saturday mornings we
spent in Mr. Ashby’s sales-rooms were a wonderful
help, eh?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; I really believe, Nolla, that I learned as
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280'></a>280</span>
much of textiles, and fabrics, by simply handling
and selling the materials, as if I had given days to
the study of them.”
</p>
<p>
“It was not only a brilliant idea of Mr. Fabian’s,
to suggest to Mr. Ashby that Ruth and we
two girls be permitted to act as clerks in his rooms,
but it was as kind and generous of Mr. Ashby to
take us. The way he taught us all about different
factories and their best and weakest points in
manufacture; the time he took to demonstrate differences
in lace and silk curtains, the best style of
linen for covers and draperies, the tapestries and
carpets of modern factories—why, I can tell at a
glance now, just whose goods I am handling.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” admitted Polly. “How many decorators’
assistants know the style of upholstery buttons
that ought to be used on a French divan? Or
what shaped button ought to go on a Turkish
chair? I never dreamed that there was any difference,
according to art, between a tufted wing-chair
and one that was smoothly upholstered. I
bet the majority of people select one or the other
because they like the looks, but very few know that
certain lines in a fireside chair demand tufted
upholstery, and another period must never have
buttons or fringe.”
</p>
<p>
“Exactly! That is what I mean, Polly, when I
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281'></a>281</span>
say I am sure we two know an awful lot about
decorating, already. It is so.”
</p>
<p>
“Dear old Fabian says, this is our critical year—if
we can manage to pass through the period
between second and third years of study without
discovering that we know it all, we may eventually
hope to become average decorators,” Polly
laughed.
</p>
<p>
“Pooh! We both know Mr. Fabian is a dotard
about us. If anyone dares to hint that we are not
as advanced as he says we are, he glares like a
jealous cat over her kittens.”
</p>
<p>
Polly and Eleanor reached the Studio by this
time and found Anne reading a long letter from
John. She was smiling happily as she read, and
Eleanor grinned charitably at her.
</p>
<p>
Polly sat down to wait till the letter was read.
Then Anne glanced over at the girls.
</p>
<p>
“Well, dears, John has definitely settled everything.
Tom Latimer and he are coming on to New
York directly their college commencement is over.
Polly’s father and mother <em>may</em> decide to come, but
that is not yet certain. As soon as you two girls
are off, we will all go back home and stay.”
</p>
<p>
“‘And they lived happily ever after,’” quoth
Eleanor, teasingly.
</p>
<p>
Anne smiled. Polly seemed dissatisfied.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282'></a>282</span>
</p>
<p>
“What do you mean ‘as soon as you girls are
off?’”
</p>
<p>
“Why, off on the European trip. The Ashbys
were here to-night and it is all settled. Mr. Brewster
wrote a fine letter and thanked them for their
wonderful offer to chaperone you girls.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, oh!” shouted Eleanor, springing up and
throwing her arms about Polly’s neck.
</p>
<p>
Anne and her mother laughed as the impulsive
girl whirled Polly around and around, until both,
exhausted, fell upon the divan. Then Polly asked
the question Eleanor had choked in her throat.
</p>
<p>
“What about John, Anne? Are you going to
Denver or to Pebbly Pit?”
</p>
<p>
“I expect to go to Pebbly Pit, dear,” said Anne,
blushing.
</p>
<p>
“No need to feel embarrassed over it, Anne,”
laughed Eleanor. “It isn’t as if we had never
heard of your plan. Besides we are all in the
family, now—or at least we will be.”
</p>
<p>
“Where does your relationship come in,
Nolla?” asked Mrs. Stewart, quizzically.
</p>
<p>
“Why, didn’t you know, Mother Stewart? I
propose to become Paul’s bride, some day, but he
doesn’t know it, either!” and the irrepressible girl
laughed madly as she ran upstairs to her room.
</p>
<p>
Her friends in the living-room laughed also, but
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283'></a>283</span>
Polly doubted that it was said in fun. She rather
suspected Eleanor of receiving many nice letters
from Paul Stewart, during her second year in New
York. But Eleanor kept her own secret.
</p>
<p>
As June entered and schools were all beginning
their examinations, Mrs. Stewart began to clear
up the rooms in the home they had occupied for
two years. Anne’s and her own personal property
were to be packed and sent to Denver. Polly and
Eleanor’s had to be sorted and packed and stored;
the winter clothing in strong moth-proof chests,
and the things they proposed taking abroad with
them, in small steamer trunks.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian had spoken for the lease on the
Studio when Mrs. Stewart’s time expired, and
until then, most of the furniture could remain as
it was. Polly and Eleanor were to have the two
small rooms and live with the Fabians, and Mrs.
Fabian had written that she would buy back the
things as they stood, thus saving everyone trouble
and time.
</p>
<p>
As the days of June passed, Anne had another
letter from John, begging her to come to the
graduation in Chicago. But Polly and Eleanor
needed her in New York, as everything was in a
panic preparing for the ocean voyage, and working
so hard at school, too.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284'></a>284</span>
</p>
<p>
Before the girls knew it, therefore, the westerners
were with them in New York. Mr. and
Mrs. Brewster expected to see Polly off on the
steamer, and John said he had unexpectedly
planned to have Anne marry him before Polly
sailed.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, that will be great! A wedding and a farewell
party all in one,” cried Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
But John took Polly aside and whispered:
“Polly, I want my only sister to witness my marriage
to the best girl living, so you will have to
persuade Anne to look at it as I do.”
</p>
<p>
“All right, John,” laughingly replied Polly.
“I’ll do my best to make her steal my only brother
from me.”
</p>
<p>
Tom Latimer joined them at this moment, and
said to Polly: “You have grown so tall and look
such a fine young lady, that I wonder how Anne
can steal any man from you. Now if I were John,
I should never <em>want</em> to be stolen from you.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Tom!” laughed Polly, greatly amused at
his words. “You talk exactly like Winnie Trevors.
He’s the society pet that expects to marry
Elizabeth Dalken. But you should see him—and
hear him talk!”
</p>
<p>
“Tom Latimer would never thank you for that
left-handed compliment, Polly, if he could but see
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285'></a>285</span>
the slim little dude you compared to him,” said
Eleanor, joining the group.
</p>
<p>
“I believe I do know him, Polly—If he is the
silver-haired lap-dog I went to grammar-school
with.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes—he <em>has</em> got whitish hair, Tom!” laughed
Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
Polly smiled but said nothing. Then Tom said,
“Will you take all that back, Poll, or must I punish
you severely, some day?”
</p>
<p>
“I never take back a word I once have said—unless
I can see where I can benefit myself. You
see, Tom, I have changed woefully, since living in
New York. I am exactly like other citizens here—I
am supremely selfish, these days.”
</p>
<p>
Tom smiled. “I can offer you a bite of attractive
bait. Will you apologise for calling me ‘exactly
like Winnie’ if I tell you a profound secret?”
</p>
<p>
“That depends! What do you call ‘profound,’
and will I be concerned in hearing it?” teased
Polly.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor had never known Polly to behave so
coquettishly before, and to her astonishment, she
beheld her little model of virtue flirt distractingly
with Tom. Or Eleanor <em>thought</em> Polly was flirting,
when she sent a dazzling look at him from
her wonderful eyes.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286'></a>286</span>
</p>
<p>
“It is the secret about the Valentine Roses. At
last I have managed to learn who really sent them
to you.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor perked up. Here was a delightful
situation. Polly had never been able to find out
who had sent the roses, and Tom was ready to
confess.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, really!” exclaimed Polly, eagerly inquisitive.
</p>
<p>
Tom laughed. “Are you concerned? Is it a
profound secret?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, oh, yes, Tom!” cried Eleanor, excitedly.
“Do tell us what you know.”
</p>
<p>
“But Polly has to show her interest, too. If
she says she is sorry for likening me to Winfield,
I will tell her who sent the roses.”
</p>
<p>
“Is he nice, Tom?” asked Polly, anxiously.
</p>
<p>
“I have heard people <em>say</em> he is, and <em>I</em> think him
great!”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor chuckled. This was a scene after her
own heart.
</p>
<p>
“Is he old—or ugly, Tom?” added Polly.
</p>
<p>
“No—he is young, and not <em>very</em> bad-looking.”
</p>
<p>
Polly thought seriously, then said: “Does he
live in New York?”
</p>
<p>
“I won’t answer any more such questions, Polly,
it isn’t fair unless you do your part,” laughed Tom.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287'></a>287</span>
</p>
<p>
“Oh, well, then, please excuse me for ever mentioning
you in the same <em>breath</em> with Winnie,”
giggled Polly. “Now tell me who sent those
roses.”
</p>
<p>
“I will, Polly, but not to-day. I did not promise
to tell you, at once—so I will wait until after
John’s wedding.”
</p>
<p>
Polly stamped her foot as Tom hurried away,
and Eleanor laughed merrily at the hoax. But
there was too much going on all about them, to
bother, now, about roses that were almost two
years old.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Maynard arrived from Chicago in time for
the quiet little wedding at “The Church around
the Corner,” and then everyone went to the Studio
for a reception. John and his bride left for a very
short honeymoon, and later, all thoughts centered
on Polly and Eleanor. It would be their turn to
say good-by in a few days.
</p>
<p>
Tom Latimer outdid himself during the days
intervening between John’s wedding and Polly’s
sailing. Jim and Ken were back from college, but
somehow the two girls who had been such fine
young pals out in the Rockies, and on that Coney
Island trip, now seemed several years older than
these boys. They couldn’t understand it.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fabian could have explained the change.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288'></a>288</span>
It was mostly psychological, due to the advanced
mental training his girls had received in their study
of a chosen high profession. They truly were far
superior, now, to either of the two boys at Yale,
although they were not aware of it at the time.
</p>
<p>
The day for the sailing of the steamer arrived,
and a gay party stood on the pier just before the
good-bys had to be said. Mrs. Brewster gave
Polly many warnings and advices, and Mr. Maynard
begged Eleanor not to bankrupt him during
her stay in Paris.
</p>
<p>
Books, flowers, fruit and candy, had been piled
up in the arms of Ruth Ashby, Polly and Eleanor,
until they could not shake the extended hands of
their friends when the time came to really say
good-by.
</p>
<p>
“Never mind your hands, we’ll kiss your faces!”
laughed Mr. Maynard, and straightway began
kissing the pretty struggling girls.
</p>
<p>
As everyone in the group was an old friend,
each one took toll of the girls’ cheeks, and just as
Jim Latimer, the last in the line, caught a swift
brush of Ruth’s ear, Tom Latimer strolled up.
</p>
<p>
“Hello, Tom! Where have you been?” called
his father.
</p>
<p>
“Better get your kiss, Tom, or you’ll be left,”
added Jim.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289'></a>289</span>
</p>
<p>
So Tom managed to get his “good-by” from
Ruth and from Eleanor, but Polly blushed furiously,
and reared her head.
</p>
<p>
“If another silly man kisses me, I’ll—I’ll—slap
him!”
</p>
<p>
Of course everyone laughed uproariously at
this, but the guard suddenly shouted, “All
aboard.” And the sailing party rushed up the
gang-plank.
</p>
<p>
Once on deck, however, Polly remembered
something she had meant to ask Tom Latimer.
She leaned over the rail and called back:
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Tom! you never told me who sent the
roses!”
</p>
<p>
“You’ll find out about it when you reach your
stateroom,” shouted Tom, making a megaphone
of his hands. “I met him there, talking to the
steward, and you will know as soon as you go
down.”
</p>
<p>
Eleanor giggled. “That’s where Tom was when
Mr. Dalken dared anyone to take one of his girls
away from him.”
</p>
<p>
“But who could Tom have met in our stateroom,
Nolla? I thought everyone was on the pier
with us?”
</p>
<p>
The steamer had already swung down-stream,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290'></a>290</span>
and the friends on the pier were mere dots, so the
curious girls hurried down to see who had sent
Polly the Valentine roses. Ruth accompanied
them, as she felt she should have been the third
in this girl relationship—like triplets, she said, one
day, to her father.
</p>
<p>
Then the door was opened, and sweet fragrance
greeted the girls. There in a corner of the stateroom
stood a dozen American Beauty roses, each
with a stem almost four feet long. And about the
stems a golden cord was tied, and upon this cord
hung a card.
</p>
<p>
The three girls stood admiring the great crimson
beauties and then Ruth said: “See who they
are from—and who for?”
</p>
<p>
“Why, they’re Polly’s, of course. The same
‘old valentine’ sent them!” laughed Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
Polly’s fingers trembled as she bent forward
and read what was written on the card: “Your
Valentine that was, and is, and always will be, in
this world, and in the next, and forever, Tom.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, no! No! No! No! I won’t have you so,
Tom!” cried Polly, throwing herself in the chair
and covering her face with her hands. Eleanor
and Ruth stood perfectly still, not knowing what
to do or say.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291'></a>291</span>
</p>
<p>
Then Polly lifted her face. She was trying to
smile. “Dear old Tom only did that to tease me.
Isn’t he an old plague?”
</p>
<p>
“I should say he was!” exclaimed Ruth, innocently.
</p>
<p>
Eleanor with the worldly wisdom learned from
her mother, added guilefully: “He sure is. But
you tricked him, Polly.”
</p>
<p>
“How?” eagerly inquired Polly.
</p>
<p>
“He was the only one in the party who didn’t
get a kiss from you!” laughed Eleanor.
</p>
<p>
“That’s so!” admitted Polly, but Eleanor was
not sure whether her friend was sorry or satisfied
at the result.
</p>
<p>
Then, as the days passed, Eleanor noticed that
Polly never mentioned the roses again, but they
were kept as fresh as possible, and weeks later,
Eleanor found one of them carefully pressed with
the card still tied to it.
</p>
<p>
But this discovery, and all that happened during
that Summer in Europe, while visiting famous
places and viewing rare objects of antiquity, are
told in another volume called “Polly and Eleanor
Abroad.”
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p>THE END</p>
</div>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p><em>This Isn’t All!</em></p>
</div>
<p>
Would you like to know what
became of the good friends you
have made in this book?
</p>
<p>
Would you like to read other
stories continuing their adventures
and experiences, or other books
quite as entertaining by the same
author?
</p>
<p>
On the <em>reverse side</em> of the wrapper
which comes with this book,
you will find a wonderful list of
stories which you can buy at the
same store where you got this book.
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p><em>Don’t throw away the Wrapper</em></p>
</div>
<p>
Use it as a handy catalog of the books
you want some day to have. But in
case you do mislay it, write to the
Publishers for a complete catalog.
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<p>
<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>THE POLLY BREWSTER SERIES</span>
</p>
<p>
By LILLIAN ELIZABETH ROY
</p>
<p>
Durably Bound. Illustrated. Colored Wrappers.
</p>
<p>
Every Volume Complete in Itself.
</p>
<p>
A delightful series for girls in which they will follow
Polly and Eleanor through many interesting
adventures and enjoyable trips to various places in
the United States, Europe and South America.
</p>
<p>
POLLY OF PEBBLY PIT<br />
POLLY AND ELEANOR<br />
POLLY IN NEW YORK<br />
POLLY AND HER FRIENDS ABROAD<br />
POLLY’S BUSINESS VENTURE<br />
POLLY’S SOUTHERN CRUISE<br />
POLLY IN SOUTH AMERICA<br />
POLLY IN THE SOUTHWEST<br />
POLLY IN ALASKA<br />
</p>
<p>
GROSSET & DUNLAP, <span class='sc'>Publishers</span>, NEW YORK
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<p>
<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>THE OUTDOOR GIRLS SERIES</span>
</p>
<p>
By LAURA LEE HOPE
</p>
<p>
Author of the “Bobbsey Twins,” “Bunny Brown” Series, Etc.
</p>
<p>
Uniform Style of Binding. Individual Colored Wrappers.
</p>
<p>
Every Volume Complete in Itself.
</p>
<p>
These are the tales of the various adventures participated
in by a group of bright, fun-loving, up-to-date
girls who have a common bond in their fondness for
outdoor life, camping, travel and adventure. They are
clean and wholesome and free from sensationalism.
</p>
<p>
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS OF DEEPDALE<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT RAINBOW LAKE<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN A MOTOR CAR<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN A WINTER CAMP<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN FLORIDA<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT OCEAN VIEW<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN ARMY SERVICE<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS ON PINE ISLAND<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT THE HOSTESS HOUSE<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT BLUFF POINT<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT WILD ROSE LODGE<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN THE SADDLE<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AROUND THE CAMPFIRE<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS ON CAPE COD<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT FOAMING FALLS<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS ALONG THE COAST<br />
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT SPRING HILL FARM<br />
</p>
<p>
GROSSET & DUNLAP, <span class='sc'>Publishers</span>, NEW YORK
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<p>
<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>THE BLYTHE GIRLS BOOKS</span>
</p>
<p>
By LAURA LEE HOPE
</p>
<p>
Individual Colored Wrappers and Text Illustrations by
</p>
<p>
THELMA GOOCH
</p>
<p>
Every Volume Complete in Itself
</p>
<p>
The Blythe girls, three in number, were left alone in
New York City. Helen, who went in for art and music,
kept the little flat uptown, while Margy, just out
of a business school, obtained a position as a private
secretary and Rose, plain-spoken and business-like, took
what she called a “job” in a department store.
</p>
<p>
THE BLYTHE GIRLS: HELEN, MARGY AND ROSE
</p>
<p>
A fascinating tale of real happenings in the great metropolis
</p>
<p>
THE BLYTHE GIRLS: MARGY’S QUEER INHERITANCE
</p>
<p>
The Girls had a peculiar old aunt and when she died she left
an unusual inheritance.
</p>
<p>
THE BLYTHE GIRLS: ROSE’S GREAT PROBLEM
</p>
<p>
Rose, still at work in the big department store, is one day faced
with the greatest problem of her life.
</p>
<p>
THE BLYTHE GIRLS: HELEN’S STRANGE BOARDER
</p>
<p>
Helen goes to the assistance of a strange girl, whose real identity
is a puzzle. Who the girl really was comes as a tremendous
surprise.
</p>
<p>
THE BLYTHE GIRLS: THREE ON A VACATION
</p>
<p>
The girls go to the country for two weeks—and fall in with all
sorts of curious and exciting happenings.
</p>
<p>
THE BLYTHE GIRLS: MARGY’S SECRET MISSION
</p>
<p>
Of course we cannot divulge the big secret, but nevertheless
the girls as usual have many exciting experiences.
</p>
<p>
THE BLYTHE GIRLS: ROSE’S ODD DISCOVERY
</p>
<p>
A very interesting story, telling how Rose aided an old man in
the almost hopeless search for his daughter.
</p>
<p>
GROSSET & DUNLAP, <span class='sc'>Publishers</span>, NEW YORK
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<p>
<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>GIRL SCOUTS SERIES</span>
</p>
<p>
By LILLIAN ELIZABETH ROY
</p>
<p>
Author of the “Polly Brewster Books”
</p>
<p>
Handsomely Bound. Colored Wrappers. Illustrated
</p>
<p>
Each Volume Complete in Itself.
</p>
<p>
Here is a series that holds the same position for girls that
the Tom Slade and Roy Blakeley books hold for boys.
They are delightful stories of Girl Scout camp life amid
beautiful surroundings and are filled with stirring adventures.
</p>
<p>
GIRL SCOUTS AT DANDELION CAMP
</p>
<p>
This is a story which centers around the making and the
enjoying of a mountain camp, spiced with the fun of a lively
troop of Girl Scouts. The charm of living in the woods, of
learning woodcraft of all sorts, of adventuring into the unknown,
combine to make a busy and an exciting summer
for the girls.
</p>
<p>
GIRL SCOUTS IN THE ADIRONDACKS
</p>
<p>
New scenery, new problems of camping, association with
a neighboring camp of Boy Scouts, and a long canoe trip
with them through the Fulton Chain, all in the setting of
the marvelous Adirondacks, bring to the girls enlargement
of horizon, new development, and new joys.
</p>
<p>
GIRL SCOUTS IN THE ROCKIES
</p>
<p>
On horseback from Denver through Estes Park as far as
the Continental Divide, climbing peaks, riding wild trails,
canoeing through canyons, shooting rapids, encountering a
landslide, a summer blizzard, a sand storm, wild animals,
and forest fires, the girls pack the days full with unforgettable
experiences.
</p>
<p>
GIRL SCOUTS IN ARIZONA AND NEW MEXICO
</p>
<p>
The Girl Scouts visit the mountains and deserts of Arizona
and New Mexico. They travel over the old Sante Fe
trail, cross the Painted Desert, and visit the Grand Canyon.
Their exciting adventures form a most interesting story.
</p>
<p>
GIRL SCOUTS IN THE REDWOODS
</p>
<p>
The girls spend their summer in the Redwoods of California
and incidentally find a way to induce a famous motion
picture director in Hollywood to offer to produce a
film that stars the Girl Scouts of America.
</p>
<p>
GROSSET & DUNLAP, <span class='sc'>Publishers</span>, NEW YORK
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<p>
<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>THE LILIAN GARIS BOOKS</span>
</p>
<p>
Attractively Bound. Illustrated. Individual Colored Wrappers.
</p>
<p>
Every Volume Complete in Itself.
</p>
<p>
Lilian Garis is one of the writers who always wrote.
She expressed herself in verse from early school days and
it was then predicted that Lilian Mack would one day
become a writer. Justifying this sentiment, while still at
high school, she took charge of the woman’s page for a
city paper and her work there attracted such favorable
attention that she left school to take entire charge of
woman’s work for the largest daily in an important
Eastern city.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Garis turned to girls’ books directly after her
marriage, and of these she has written many. She believes
in girls, studies them and depicts them with pen both
skilled and sympathetic.
</p>
<p>
CLEO’S MISTY RAINBOW<br />
CLEO’S CONQUEST<br />
BARBARA HALE: A DOCTOR’S DAUGHTER<br />
BARBARA HALE AND COZETTE<br />
GLORIA: A GIRL AND HER DAD<br />
GLORIA AT BOARDING SCHOOL<br />
JOAN: JUST GIRL<br />
JOAN’S GARDEN OF ADVENTURE<br />
CONNIE LORING’S AMBITION<br />
CONNIE LORING’S DILEMMA<br />
</p>
<p>
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<p>
<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>AMY BELL MARLOWE’S BOOKS FOR GIRLS</span>
</p>
<p>
Charming, Fresh and Original Stories
</p>
<p>
Illustrated. Wrappers Printed in Colors with individual design for each story
</p>
<p>
Miss Marlowe’s books for girls are somewhat of the
type of Miss Alcott and also Mrs. Meade; but all are
thoroughly up-to-date and wholly American in scene
and action. Good, clean absorbing tales that all girls
thoroughly enjoy.
</p>
<p>
<b>THE OLDEST OF FOUR; Or, Natalie’s Way Out.</b>
</p>
<p>
A sweet story of the struggles of a live girl to keep a family from want.
</p>
<p>
<b>THE GIRLS AT HILLCREST FARM; Or, The Secret of the Rocks.</b>
</p>
<p>
Relating the trials of two girls who take boarders on an old farm.
</p>
<p>
<b>A LITTLE MISS NOBODY; Or, With the Girls of Pinewood Hall.</b>
</p>
<p>
Tells of a school girl who was literally a nobody until she solved the
mystery of her identity.
</p>
<p>
<b>THE GIRL FROM SUNSET RANCH; Or, Alone in a Great City.</b>
</p>
<p>
A ranch girl comes to New York to meet relatives she has never seen.
Her adventures make unusually good reading.
</p>
<p>
<b>WYN’S CAMPING DAYS; Or, The Outing of the GO-AHEAD CLUB.</b>
</p>
<p>
A tale of happy days on the water and under canvas, with a touch of
mystery and considerable excitement.
</p>
<p>
<b>FRANCES OF THE RANGES; Or, The Old Ranchman’s Treasure.</b>
</p>
<p>
A vivid picture of life on the great cattle ranges of the West.
</p>
<p>
<b>THE GIRLS OF RIVERCLIFF SCHOOL; Or, Beth Baldwin’s Resolve.</b>
</p>
<p>
This is one of the most entertaining stories centering about a girl’s
school that has ever been written.
</p>
<p>
<b>WHEN ORIOLE CAME TO HARBOR LIGHT.</b>
</p>
<p>
The story of a young girl, cast up by the sea, and rescued by an old
lighthouse keeper.
</p>
<p>
<b>WHEN ORIOLE TRAVELED WESTWARD.</b>
</p>
<p>
Oriole visits the family of a rich ranchman and enjoys herself immensely.
</p>
<p>
<b>WHEN ORIOLE WENT TO BOARDING SCHOOL.</b>
</p>
<p>
How this brave girl bears up under the most trying experiences, makes
a very interesting story.
</p>
<p>
GROSSET & DUNLAP, <span class='sc'>Publishers</span>, NEW YORK
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<p>
<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>CAROLYN WELLS BOOKS</span>
</p>
<p>
Attractively Bound. Illustrated. Colored Wrappers.
</p>
<p>
THE MARJORIE BOOKS
</p>
<p>
Marjorie is a happy little girl of twelve, up to
mischief, but full of goodness and sincerity. In her
and her friends every girl reader will see much of
her own love of fun, play and adventure.
</p>
<p>
MARJORIE’S VACATION<br />
MARJORIE’S BUSY DAYS<br />
MARJORIE’S NEW FRIEND<br />
MARJORIE IN COMMAND<br />
MARJORIE’S MAYTIME<br />
MARJORIE AT SEACOTE<br />
</p>
<p>
THE TWO LITTLE WOMEN SERIES
</p>
<p>
Introducing Dorinda Fayre—a pretty blonde,
sweet, serious, timid and a little slow, and Dorothy
Rose—a sparkling brunette, quick, elf-like, high
tempered, full of mischief and always getting into
scrapes.
</p>
<p>
TWO LITTLE WOMEN<br />
TWO LITTLE WOMEN AND TREASURE HOUSE<br />
TWO LITTLE WOMEN ON A HOLIDAY<br />
</p>
<p>
THE DICK AND DOLLY BOOKS
</p>
<p>
Dick and Dolly are brother and sister, and their
games, their pranks, their joys and sorrows, are told
in a manner which makes the stories “really true”
to young readers.
</p>
<p>
DICK AND DOLLY<br />
DICK AND DOLLY’S ADVENTURES<br />
</p>
<p>
GROSSET & DUNLAP, <span class='sc'>Publishers</span>, NEW YORK
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<p>
<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>THE HONEY BUNCH BOOKS</span>
</p>
<p>
By HELEN LOUISE THORNDYKE
</p>
<p>
Individual Colored Wrappers and Text Illustrations Drawn by
</p>
<p>
WALTER S. ROGERS
</p>
<p>
A new line of fascinating tales for little girls. Honey
Bunch is a dainty, thoughtful little girl, and to know her
is to take her to your heart at once.
</p>
<p>
HONEY BUNCH: JUST A LITTLE GIRL
</p>
<p>
Happy days at home, helping mamma and the washerlady. And Honey
Bunch helped the house painters too—or thought she did.
</p>
<p>
HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST VISIT TO THE CITY
</p>
<p>
What wonderful sights Honey Bunch saw when she went to visit her
cousins in New York! And she got lost in a big hotel and wandered into
a men’s convention!
</p>
<p>
HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST DAYS ON THE FARM
</p>
<p>
Can you remember how the farm looked the first time you visited it?
How big the cows and horses were, and what a roomy place to play in the
barn proved to be?
</p>
<p>
HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST VISIT TO THE SEASHORE
</p>
<p>
Honey Bunch soon got used to the big waves and thought playing in the
sand great fun. And she visited a merry-go-round, and took part in a seaside
pageant.
</p>
<p>
HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST LITTLE GARDEN
</p>
<p>
It was great sport to dig and to plant with one’s own little garden tools.
But best of all was when Honey Bunch won a prize at the flower show.
</p>
<p>
HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST DAYS IN CAMP
</p>
<p>
It was a great adventure for Honey Bunch when she journeyed to Camp
Snapdragon. It was wonderful to watch the men erect the tent, and more
wonderful to live in it and have good times on the shore and in the water.
</p>
<p>
GROSSET & DUNLAP, <span class='sc'>Publishers</span>, NEW YORK
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<p>
<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>THE BOBBSEY TWINS BOOKS</span>
</p>
<p>
For Little Men and Women
</p>
<p>
By LAURA LEE HOPE
</p>
<p>
Author of “The Bunny Brown Series,” Etc.
</p>
<p>
Durably Bound. Illustrated. Uniform Style of Binding.
</p>
<p>
Every Volume Complete in Itself.
</p>
<p>
These books for boys and girls between the ages of three
and ten stands among children and their parents of this
generation where the books of Louisa May Alcott stood in
former days. The haps and mishaps of this inimitable pair
of twins, their many adventures and experiences are a
source of keen delight to imaginative children everywhere.
</p>
<p>
THE BOBBSEY TWINS<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS IN THE COUNTRY<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT THE SEASHORE<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT SCHOOL<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT SNOW LODGE<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS ON A HOUSEBOAT<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT MEADOW BROOK<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT HOME<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS IN A GREAT CITY<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS ON BLUEBERRY ISLAND<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS ON THE DEEP BLUE SEA<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS IN THE GREAT WEST<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT CEDAR CAMP<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT THE COUNTY FAIR<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS CAMPING OUT<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AND BABY MAY<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS KEEPING HOUSE<br />
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT CLOVERBANK<br />
</p>
<p>
GROSSET & DUNLAP, <span class='sc'>Publishers</span>, NEW YORK
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<p>
<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>THE BUNNY BROWN SERIES</span>
</p>
<p>
By LAURA LEE HOPE
</p>
<p>
Author of the Popular “Bobbsey Twins” Books, Etc.
</p>
<p>
Durably Bound. Illustrated. Uniform Style of Binding.
</p>
<p>
Every Volume Complete in Itself.
</p>
<p>
These stories are eagerly welcomed by the little folks
from about five to ten years of age. Their eyes fairly dance
with delight at the lively doings of inquisitive little Bunny
Brown and his cunning, trustful sister Sue.
</p>
<p>
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE ON GRANDPA’S FARM<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE PLAYING CIRCUS<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AT CAMP-REST-A-WHILE<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AT AUNT LU’S CITY HOME<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE IN THE BIG WOODS<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE ON AN AUTO TOUR<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AND THEIR SHETLAND PONY<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE GIVING A SHOW<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AT CHRISTMAS TREE COVE<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE IN THE SUNNY SOUTH<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE KEEPING STORE<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AND THEIR TRICK DOG<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AT A SUGAR CAMP<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE ON THE ROLLING OCEAN<br />
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE ON JACK FROST ISLAND<br />
</p>
<p>
GROSSET & DUNLAP, <span class='sc'>Publishers</span>, NEW YORK
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<p>
<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>SIX LITTLE BUNKERS SERIES</span>
</p>
<p>
By LAURA LEE HOPE
</p>
<p>
Author of The Bobbsey Twins Books, The Bunny
Brown Series, The Blythe Girls Books, Etc.
</p>
<p>
Durably Bound. Illustrated. Uniform Style of Binding.
Every Volume Complete in Itself.
</p>
<p>
Delightful stories for little boys and girls which sprung
into immediate popularity. To know the six little Bunkers
is to take them at once to your heart, they are so intensely
human, so full of fun and cute sayings. Each story has a
little plot of its own—one that can be easily followed—and
all are written in Miss Hope’s most entertaining manner.
Clean, wholesome volumes which ought to be on the bookshelf
of every child in the land.
</p>
<p>
SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT GRANDMA BELL’S<br />
SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT AUNT JO’S<br />
SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT COUSIN TOM’S<br />
SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT GRANDPA FORD’S<br />
SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT UNCLE FRED’S<br />
SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT CAPTAIN BEN’S<br />
SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT COWBOY JACK’S<br />
SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT MAMMY JUNE’S<br />
SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT FARMER JOEL’S<br />
SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT MILLER NED’S<br />
SIX LITTLE BUNKERS AT INDIAN JOHN’S<br />
</p>
<p>
GROSSET & DUNLAP, <span class='sc'>Publishers</span>, NEW YORK
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<p>
<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>THE RIDDLE CLUB BOOKS</span>
</p>
<p>
By ALICE DALE HARDY
</p>
<p>
Individual Colored Wrappers. Attractively Illustrated.
</p>
<p>
Every Volume Complete in Itself.
</p>
<p>
Here is as ingenious a series of books for little folks as
has ever appeared since “Alice in Wonderland.” The idea
of the Riddle books is a little group of children—three girls
and three boys decide to form a riddle club. Each book is
full of the adventures and doings of these six youngsters,
but as an added attraction each book is filled with a lot of
the best riddles you ever heard.
</p>
<p>
THE RIDDLE CLUB AT HOME
</p>
<p>
An absorbing tale that all boys and girls will enjoy reading.
How the members of the club fixed up a clubroom in the Larue
barn, and how they, later on, helped solve a most mysterious
happening, and how one of the members won a valuable prize,
is told in a manner to please every young reader.
</p>
<p>
THE RIDDLE CLUB IN CAMP
</p>
<p>
The club members went into camp on the edge of a beautiful
lake. Here they had rousing good times swimming, boating
and around the campfire. They fell in with a mysterious old man
known as The Hermit of Triangle Island. Nobody knew his
real name or where he came from until the propounding of a
riddle solved these perplexing questions.
</p>
<p>
THE RIDDLE CLUB THROUGH THE HOLIDAYS
</p>
<p>
This volume takes in a great number of sports, including
skating and sledding and the building of a huge snowman.
It also gives the particulars of how the club treasurer lost the
dues entrusted to his care and what the melting of the great
snowman revealed.
</p>
<p>
THE RIDDLE CLUB AT SUNRISE BEACH
</p>
<p>
This volume tells how the club journeyed to the seashore and
how they not only kept up their riddles but likewise had good
times on the sand and on the water. Once they got lost in a fog
and are marooned on an island. Here they made a discovery
that greatly pleased the folks at home.
</p>
<p>
GROSSET & DUNLAP, <span class='sc'>Publishers</span>, NEW YORK
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<p>
<span style='font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'>JERRY TODD AND POPPY OTT SERIES</span>
</p>
<p>
By LEO EDWARDS
</p>
<p>
Durably Bound. Illustrated. Individual Colored Wrappers.
</p>
<p>
Every Volume Complete in Itself.
</p>
<p>
Hundreds of thousands of boys who laughed until their
sides ached over the weird and wonderful adventures of
Jerry Todd and his gang demanded that Leo Edwards,
the author, give them more books like the Jerry Todd
stories with their belt-bursting laughs and creepy shivers.
So he took Poppy Ott, Jerry Todd’s bosom chum and
created the Poppy Ott Series, and if such a thing could be
possible—they are even more full of fun and excitement
than the Jerry Todds.
</p>
<p>
THE POPPY OTT SERIES<br />
POPPY OTT AND THE STUTTERING PARROT<br />
POPPY OTT AND THE SEVEN LEAGUE STILTS<br />
POPPY OTT AND THE GALLOPING SNAIL<br />
POPPY OTT’S PEDIGREED PICKLES<br />
 <br/>
THE JERRY TODD BOOKS<br />
JERRY TODD AND THE WHISPERING MUMMY<br />
JERRY TODD AND THE ROSE-COLORED CAT<br />
JERRY TODD AND THE OAK ISLAND TREASURE<br />
JERRY TODD AND THE WALTZING HEN<br />
JERRY TODD AND THE TALKING FROG<br />
JERRY TODD AND THE PURRING EGG<br />
JERRY TODD IN THE WHISPERING CAVE<br />
</p>
<p>
GROSSET & DUNLAP, <span class='sc'>Publishers</span>, NEW YORK
</p>
<pre>
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