CHAPTER XXV
A LETTER TO HONG-KONG
THERE are some subjects one hesitates to discuss with one's family. Itis easier to seek information from strangers or servants, who do notfeel free to come back at you with the disconcerting question, "But whydo you ask?"
It was with the half-formed resolution of leading up to a certain one ofthese difficult subjects if she could, that Georgina wandered down thebeach next morning to a little pavilion near the Gray Inn. It wasoccupied by Peggy Burrell, her baby brother and the colored nurseMelindy.
Georgina, sorely wanting companionship now that Richard and Captain Kiddwere off on their yachting trip, was thankful that Mrs. Triplett had metCaptain Burrell the day before at the Bazaar, and had agreed with himthat Georgina and Peggy ought to be friends because their fathers were.Otherwise, the occupants of the pavilion would have been counted asundesirable playmates being outside the pale of her acquaintance.
Peggy welcomed her joyfully. She wasn't strong enough yet to go off on awhole morning's fishing trip with brother and Daddy, she told Georgina,and her mother was playing bridge on the hotel piazza. Peggy was alittle thing, only eight, and Georgina not knowing what to do toentertain her, resurrected an old play that she had not thought of forseveral summers. She built Grandfather Shirley's house in the sand.
It took so long to find the right kind of shells with which to make thelanterns for the gate-posts, and to gather the twigs of bayberry andbeach plum for the avenues (she had to go into the dunes for them), thatthe question she was intending to ask Melindy slipped from her mind fora while. It came back to her, however, as she scooped a place in thewall of pebbles and wet sand which stood for the fence.
"Here's the place where the postman drops the mail."
Then she looked up at Melindy, the question on the tip of her tongue.But Peggy, on her knees, was watching her so intently that she seemed tobe looking straight into her mouth every time it opened, and her couragefailed her. Instead of saying what she had started to say, sheexclaimed:
"Here's the hole in the fence where the little pigs squeezed through."Then she told the story that went with this part of the game. When itwas time to put in the bee-hives, however, and Peggy volunteered to lookup and down the beach for the right kind of a pebble to set thebee-hives on, Georgina took advantage of the moment alone with Melindy.There wasn't time to lead up to the question properly. There wasn'teven time to frame the question in such a way that it would seem acasual, matter-of-course one. Georgina was conscious that the blood wassurging up into her cheeks until they must seem as red as fire. Sheleaned forward toward the sand-pile she was shaping till her curls fellover her face. Then she blurted out:
"How often do husbands write to wives?"
Melindy either did not hear or did not understand, and Georgina had themortifying experience of repeating the question. It was harder to giveutterance to it the second time than the first. She was relieved whenMelindy answered without showing any surprise.
"Why, most every week I reckon, when they loves 'em. Leastways whitefolks do. It comes easy to them to write. An' I lived in one place wherethe lady got a lettah every othah day."
"But I mean when the husband's gone for a long, long time, off to sea orto another country, and is dreadfully busy, like Captain Burrell is whenhe's on his ship."
Melindy gave a short laugh. "Huh! Let me tell you, honey, when a man_wants_ to write he's gwine to write, busy or no busy."
Later, Georgina went home pondering Melindy's answer. "Most every weekwhen they love's 'em. Sometimes every other day." And Barby had had noletter for over four months.
Something happened that afternoon which had never happened before in allGeorgina's experience. She was taken to the Gray Inn to call. Mrs.Triplett, dressed in her new black summer silk, took her.
"As long as Barbara isn't here to pay some attention to that Mrs.Burrell," Tippy said to Belle, "it seems to me it's my place as next ofkin. The Captain couldn't get done saying nice things about Justin."
Evidently, she approved of both Mrs. Burrell and Peggy, for when eachbegged that Georgina be allowed to stay to supper she graciously gavepermission.
"Peggy has taken the wildest fancy to you, dear," Mrs. Burrell said inan aside to Georgina. "You gave her a beautiful morning on the beach.The poor little thing has suffered so much with her lame knee, that weare grateful to anyone who makes her forget all that she has gonethrough. It's only last week that she could have the brace taken off.She hasn't been able to run and play like other children for two years,but we're hoping she may outgrow the trouble in time."
The dining-room of the Gray Inn overlooked the sea, and was so close tothe water one had the feeling of being in a boat, when looking out ofits windows. There were two South American transports in the harbor.Some of the officers had come ashore and were dining with friends at theGray Inn. Afterwards they stayed to dance a while in the long parlorwith the young ladies of the party.
Peggy and Georgina sat on the piazza just outside one of the long Frenchwindows, where they could watch the gay scene inside. It seemed almostas gay outside, when one turned to look across the harbor filled withmoving lights. Captain and Mrs. Burrell were outside also. They satfarther down the piazza, near the railing, talking to one of theofficers who was not dancing. Once when the music stopped, Peggy turnedto Georgina to say:
"Do you hear Daddy speaking Spanish to that officer from South America?Doesn't he do it well? I can understand a little of what they saybecause we lived in South America a while last year. We join himwhenever he is stationed at a port where officers can take theirfamilies. He says that children of the navy have to learn to be regulargypsies. I love going to new places. How many languages can your fatherspeak?"
Georgina, thus suddenly questioned, felt that she would rather die thanacknowledge that she knew so little of her father that she could notanswer. She was saved the mortification of confessing it, however, bythe music striking up again at that moment.
"Oh, I can play that!" she exclaimed. "That's the dance of thetarantula. Isn't it a weird sort of thing?"
The air of absorbed interest with which Georgina turned to listen to themusic made Peggy forget her question, and listen in the same way. Shewanted to do everything in the same way that Georgina did it, and fromthat moment that piece of music held special charm for her becauseGeorgina called it weird.
The next time Georgina glanced down the piazza Mrs. Burrell was alone.In her dimly-lighted corner, she looked like one of the pretty summergirls one sees sometimes on a magazine cover. She was all in white witha pale blue wrap of some kind about her that was so soft and fleecy itlooked like a pale blue cloud. Georgina found herself looking down thatway often, with admiring glances. She happened to have her eyes turnedthat way when the Captain came back and stood beside her chair. The bluewrap had slipped from her shoulders without her notice, and he stoopedand picked it up. Then he drew the soft, warm thing up around her, andbending over, laid his cheek for just an instant against hers.
It was such a fleeting little caress that no one saw it but Georgina,and she turned her eyes away instantly, feeling that she had no right tolook, yet glad that she had seen, because of the warm glow it sentthrough her. She couldn't tell why, but somehow the world seemed ahappier sort of place for everybody because such things happened in it.
"I wonder," she thought wistfully, as her eyes followed the gracefulsteps of the foreign dancers and her thoughts stayed with what she hadjust witnessed, "I wonder if that had been Barby and my father, would_he_?"----
But she did not finish even to herself the question which rose up toworry her. It came back every time she recalled the little scene.
On the morning after her visit to the Gray Inn she climbed up on thepiano stool when she had finished practising her scales. She wanted acloser view of the portrait which hung over it. It was an oil paintingof her father at the age of five. He wore kilts and little socks withplaid tops, and he carried a white rabbit in his arms. Georgin
a knewevery inch of the canvas, having admired it from the time she was firstheld up to it in someone's arms to "see the pretty bunny." Now shelooked at it long and searchingly.
Then she opened the book-case and took out an old photograph album.There were several pictures of her father in that. One taken with hisHigh School class, and one with a group of young medical students, andone in the white service dress of an assistant surgeon of the navy. Noneof them corresponded with her dim memory of him.
Then she went upstairs to Barby's room, and stood before the bureau,studying the picture upon it in a large silver frame. It was taken in astanding position and had been carefully colored, so that she knewaccurately every detail of the dress uniform of a naval surgeon from thestripes of gold lace and maroon velvet on the sleeves, to the eagle onthe belt buckle and the sword knot dangling over the scabbard. Therewere various medals pinned on his breast which had always interestedher.
But this morning it was not the uniform or the decorations which claimedher attention. It was the face itself. She was looking for something inthe depths of those serious dark eyes, that she had seen in CaptainBurrell's when he looked at Peggy; something more than a smile,something that made his whole face light up till you felt warm and happyjust to look at him. She wondered if the closely-set lips she wasstudying could curve into a welcoming smile if anybody ran to meet himwith happy outstretched arms. But the picture was baffling anddisappointing, because it was a profile view.
Presently, she picked it up and carried it to her own room, placing iton the table where she always sat to write. She had screwed up hercourage at last, to the point of writing the letter which long ago shehad decided ought to be written by somebody.
Once Barby said, "When you can't think of anything to put in a letter,look at the person's picture, and pretend you're talking to it."Georgina followed that advice now. But one cannot talk enthusiasticallyto a listener who continues to show you only his profile.
Suddenly, her resentment flamed hot against this handsome, averted facewhich was all she knew of a father. She thought bitterly that he had nobusiness to be such a stranger to her that she didn't even know what helooked like when he smiled. Something of the sternness of her oldPilgrim forbears crept into her soul as she sat there judging him andbiting the end of her pen. She glanced down at the sheet of paper onwhich she had painstakingly written "Dear Father." Then she scratchedout the words, feeling she could not honestly call him that when he wassuch a stranger. Taking a clean sheet of paper, she wrote even morepainstakingly:
"Dear Sir: There are two reesons----"
Then she looked up in doubt about the spelling of that last word. Shemight have gone downstairs and consulted the dictionary but herexperience had proved that a dictionary is an unsatisfactory book whenone does not know how to spell a word. It is by mere chance that whatone is looking for can be found. After thinking a moment she put herhead out of the window and called softly down to Belle, who was sewingon the side porch. She called softly so that Tippy could not hear andanswer and maybe add the remark, "But why do you ask? Are you writing toyour mother?"
Belle spelled the word for her, and taking another sheet of paperGeorgina made a fresh start. This time she did not hesitate over thespelling, but scribbled recklessly on until all that was crowding up tobe said was on the paper.
"Dear Sir: There are two reasons for writing this. One is about yourwife. Cousin Mehitable says something is eating her heart out, and Ithought you ought to know. Maybe as you can cure so many strangediseeses you can do something for her. The other is to ask you to sendus another picture of yourself. The only ones we have of you are lookingoff sideways, and I can't feel as well acquainted with you as if I couldlook into your eyes.
"There is a lovely father staying at the Gray Inn. He is PeggyBurrell's. He is a naval officer, too. It makes me feel like an orfanwhen I see him going down the street holding her hand. He asked me totell him all about where you are and what you are doing, because youcured him once on a hospital ship, and I was ashamed to tell him that Ididn't know because Barby has not had a letter from you for over fourmonths. Please don't let on to her that I wrote this. She doesn't knowthat I was under the bed when Cousin Mehitable was talking about you,and saying that everybody thinks it is queer you never come home. If youcan do only one of the things I asked, please do the first one. Yourstruly, Georgina Huntingdon."
Having blotted the letter, Georgina read it over carefully, finding twowords that did not look quite right, although she did not know what wasthe matter with them. So she called softly out of the window again toBelle:
"How do you spell diseases?"
Belle told her but added the question, "Why do you ask a word like that?Whose diseases can you be writing about?"
Georgina drew in her head without answering. She could not seek help inthat quarter again, especially for such a word as "orfan." Afterstudying over it a moment she remembered there was a poem in "Songs forthe Little Ones at Home," called "The Orphan Nosegay Girl."
A trip downstairs for the tattered volume gave her the word she wanted,and soon the misspelled one was scratched out and rewritten. There werenow three unsightly blots on the letter and she hovered over them amoment, her pride demanding that she should make a clean, fair copy. Butit seemed such an endless task to rewrite it from beginning to end, thatshe finally decided to send it as it stood.
Addressed, stamped and sealed, it was ready at last and she dropped itinto the mail-box. Then she had a moment of panic. It was actuallystarted on its way to Hong-Kong and nothing in her power could stop itor bring it back. She wondered if she hadn't done exactly the wrongthing, and made a bad matter worse.