CHAPTER III
POLA LIFTS A CURTAIN
"Where _is_ Isolde?" Mrs. Milliken whispered between her "Note thegracious proportions of this hall" and "Joseph Romley would never allowhimself to be crowded with possessions."
"She's--she's--" Sidney had a sudden instinct to protect Isolde. "Shehas--a headache."
"I am _so_ sorry that I cannot introduce you to Isolde Romley--thepoet's oldest daughter," Mrs. Milliken pitched her voice so that itmight reach even to the girls crowding into the front door. "She is a_most_ interesting and delightful and unusual young lady. She wasalways closely associated with her gifted father and we feel that sheis growing to be very like him. _This_--" smiling affectionately atSidney and allowing a suggestion of apology to creep into her tone,"This is just our little Sidney, the poet's baby-girl. Sidney, lamb,this is Miss Byers of Grace Hall, a boarding school for young ladiesand these are her precious charges. They are making a pilgrimage to ourbeloved shrine--" Sidney, too familiar with Mrs. Milliken's floweryphrases to be embarrassed by them, faced a little frightenedly the eyesthat stared curiously at her from above the spotless collars.
"We will go right into the study," Mrs. Milliken advised Miss Byers."We can take the girls in in little groups. As poor Isolde is not hereI will tell them some of the precious and personal anecdotes of thegreat poet. You know we, in Middletown--especially of the League--feelvery privileged to have lived so close to him--"
Miss Byers briskly marshalled the first eight girls into the smallstudy. The others broke file and crowded into the front room and on tothe stairs, some even spilled over into the dining room. They paid notthe slightest attention to anything about them. Assured that Miss Byerswas out of hearing they burst into excited chatter and laughter. Exceptfor one or two who smiled shyly at her they did not even notice Sidney.
Sidney, relieved that Mrs. Milliken did not expect _her_ to recite the"precious and personal anecdotes," drew back into a corner from whereshe could enjoy to its fullest measure the delight of such closepropinquity to real boarding-school girls. Their talk, broken bysmothered shrieks of laughter, rang like sweetest music to her. Theyseemed so jolly. Their blue serges and white collars were so stylish.She wondered where they all came from and whether they had "scrapes" atGrace Hall.
The first eight girls filed back into the hall from the study and MissByers motioned eight more to enter. There was a general stirring, thenthe chatter swelled again. Presently a girl slipped into Sidney'scorner and dropped down upon a chair.
"Isn't this the _stupidest_ bore!" she groaned. Then looking at Sidney,she gasped and laughed. "Say--I _beg_ your pardon. I thought you wereone of the girls. And you're--you're--the poet's daughter, aren't you?"The slanting dove-gray eyes above the white collar actually softenedwith sympathy.
Sidney thought this young creature the very prettiest girl--next toVicky--she had ever seen. She did not mind her pity. The stranger hadtaken her for "one of the girls" and Sidney would have forgiven heranything for that!
"I suppose it is a bore. Isn't it fun, though, just going places?"
The boarding school girl stared. "Oh, we go so _much_. There isn't abig gun anywhere within a radius of five hundred miles that we don'thave to visit. We get autographs and listen to speeches and make notesabout graves and look at pictures. Most of the girls get a kick out ofit slipping in some gore behind Byers' back--but I don't. I travel somuch with my family that nothing seems awfully exciting now."
Sidney wished she'd say that over again--it sounded so unbelievable.And the girl couldn't be any older than she was. She was conscious thatthe slanting eyes were regarding her closely.
"Do you like living here and having a lot of people tramp all over yourhouse and stare at you and say things about you and poke at yourfather's things?"
It was plain magic the way this stranger put her finger directly uponthe sore spot.
"No, I don't!" vehemently.
"_I'd_ hate it, too. And I suppose you always have to act like a poet'sdaughter, don't you? Do you have to write poetry yourself?"
"No, I loathe poetry!"
"But I'll bet you don't dare say so when that Dame in there can hearyou! I have to be careful talking about candy. My father makes theBetty Sweets. Don't you know them? They're sold all over the world. Wehave an immense factory. And there isn't any other kind of candy that Idon't like better. But I don't dare tell anybody that. Funny, I'mtelling you! Our spirits must be drawn together by some invisible bond."
Sidney's ears fairly ached with the beauty of the other's words. Shestiffened her slender little body to control its trembling. She triedto say something but found her throat choked. The other girl rattled on:
"I didn't take any notes. I'll copy my roommate's. You see we have towrite a theme about our visit. Miss Byers prides herself on the girlsof Grace being so well-informed. I know. I'll put you into it. That'llbe fun. Only you'll have to tell me something about yourself. How oldare you? Do you go to a regular school and play with other girls likeany ordinary girl?"
Sidney flushed at the other's manner and found her tongue in aninstinctive desire to defend her lot.
"Of course I go to school. It's sort of a boarding school, only all thegirls go home nights. And I do everything the others do. And I amfifteen."
"I didn't mean to offend you. I thought perhaps a poet's daughter wasdifferent. If you don't mind in my theme I'll _make_ youdifferent--pale and thin, with curly hair in a cloud, and farawayeyes--"
"That's like Isolde, my oldest sister, the one who usually tells the'precious and personal anecdotes.' I wasn't really offended--and I'lladmit most of the girls do treat me a little bit differently--butthat's Miss Downs' fault; she won't let them forget that I am JosephRomley's daughter. She uses it all the time in her catalogue and whenany visitors come to the school it's dreadful--"
"If you don't like it why don't you come to Grace Hall? We'd have noend of fun--"
"Gracious, I've never been _any_where. I only go to Miss Downs' becauseit's here at Middletown and because she gives me my tuition on accountof Dad--" Sidney bit off her words in a sudden panic lest her admissionof poverty shock this lovely creature. It had not, however. Thedove-gray eyes had softened again with pity.
"Oh, I see. Of course, poets are always poor. I supposed they usuallylived in garrets. I nearly flopped when I saw this big house!" This tocomfort Sidney. "Well, it's too bad you _can't_ go to Grace. I like theriding best. I have my own horse. Gypsy. She's a darling. My roommateis the cutest thing. She's captain of the hockey team and her picturewas in the _New York Times_. Her mother made a dreadful fuss about itbut it was too late. And she got a letter from a boy in New York who'dseen the picture--the most exciting letter--"
"Oh, _here_ you are, Pola," cried a voice behind them and a tall girlelbowed Sidney back into her corner. "Say, Byers will be here at leasta half an hour longer. We'll have time for a dope at that store wepassed, if we hurry!"
All boredom vanished, the girl Pola sprang to her feet. She paused onlylong enough to hold out her hand to Sidney. "Don't tell anyone that Idon't like Betty Sweets best of all the candy in the world, will you?"she laughed. "And I won't tell anyone that you loathe poetry." Then sheran after the tall girl. Sidney felt engulfed in a great and terribleloneliness.
For the next half hour she was only conscious of a fear that Pola andher companion might not get back before Miss Byers discovered theirflight. But just as the last eight came out of the study and Miss Byerswas lingering for a few words with Mrs. Milliken, Sidney saw two flyingfigures join the others at the gate. Her little hope that she mighthave a chance to talk again with Pola or hear her talk was lost in asurge of relief that she was quite safe.
Mrs. Milliken remained after the others had filed down the street.Sidney, troubled by her fib of the headache, wished with all her soulthat she would go and strained her ears for any sound from the floorabove that might betray Isolde's activities.
"A love
ly thing--to bring those young girls to this spot," Mrs.Milliken was murmuring as she looked over the register which the Leaguekept very carefully. "Here are some well-known names. Jenkins--probablythat's the iron family. Scott--I wonder if that's the Scott who'srelated to the Astors." Sidney watched the gloved finger as it tracedits way down the page of scrawled signatures.
"Is there a Pola Somebody there?" she asked, hopefully. Mrs. Milliken'sfinger ran back up the page.
"No--not that I can find. The girls were very careless--not half ofthem registered."
Of course Pola wouldn't have registered--she had been too bored.
Her survey finished, Mrs. Milliken put the register in its place andregarded Sidney with contemplative eyes.
"Another time, dear lamb, if you receive, tell Isolde to--well, fix youup a little. I must speak to the Committee and plan something suitablefor you. Perhaps we have been forgetting that our dear little girl isgrowing out of her rompers. Oh--and another thing, tell Isolde I was_shocked_ to smell gasoline on your gifted father's jacket--"
"Trude thought it had moths in it and she soaked it in gasoline,"explained Sidney uncomfortably.
"Oh, she _mustn't_ do it again. It--it spoiled the atmosphere ofeverything! I will speak to the dear girls. Give my love to Isolde andtell her to rest. I do not think anyone else will come today for Iposted a notice at the clubrooms reserving this date for Grace School."
With an affectionate leave-taking of her "lamb" Mrs. Milliken rustledoff. Sidney slowly shut the door. Out there, beyond the hedge, wentPola and the other laughing girls of Grace Hall, out into a world offun and adventure. And _inside_ the door--
Pola had dared race off to the corner drug store; Sidney felt certainPola would dare _anything_. And _she_ had not even had spunk enough tospeak up and tell interfering Mrs. Milliken that Trude and the rest ofthem would soak everything in gasoline, if they wanted to! Mostcertainly they were not going to let _moths_ eat them all up alive!
Oh--oh, it was hateful! And Isolde had said they could not escape it;well, she'd _find_ a way!
* * * * *
From abovestairs the three older sisters had witnessed the invasion oftheir home by the Grace Hall girls.
"It's perfectly disgusting!" had been Vick's comment.
Trude was all sympathy for Sidney. "You were cruel, Issy, making Sidreceive that mob."
Isolde reluctantly turned her attention from the faded silks in her lap.
"Sidney might as well realize with what _we_ have to put up. Thenperhaps she will not be so discontented with her own easy lot--"
From where she squatted on the floor, a huge mending basket balanced onher knees, Trude regarded Isolde with troubled eyes. Her foreheadpuckered with little criss-cross wrinkles. Of the three older girlsTrude had the least claim to beauty; from constant exposure her skinhad acquired a ruddiness like a boy's which made her blue eyes paler bycontrast; her hair had been cut after an attack of scarlet fever andhad grown in so slowly that she wore it shingle-bobbed which added tothe suggestion of boyishness about her; there was an ungirlishsturdiness and squareness to her build--one instinctively looked to hershoulders to carry burdens. Yet withal there was about her alovableness infinitely more winning than Vick's Grecian beauty orIsolde's interesting personality--a lovableness and a loyalty thaturged her on now to champion poor Sidney and yet made it the harder forher to express to the others what she felt deep in her heart.
"Stop a minute and think, Issy. Didn't _we_ used to feel discontentedlots of times and fuss about things between ourselves? We knew--thoughwe didn't exactly ever _say_ it--that we _had_ to be different, onaccount of Dad. We couldn't ever bother him, for fear we'd spoil hiswork. Of course it was all worth while and doesn't make muchdifference--now, but, Issy, _Sid_ doesn't have to put up with what wedid--" Trude stopped suddenly. It seemed dreadful to say: "Dad isn'twriting any poems now." She felt the pang of loss in her tender heartthat always came when she thought of her father, with his bursts ofimpatience and his twitching nose and his long hours in the study withthe door closed, and then his great indulgence and boyishdemonstrativeness when some work that had been tormenting was completedand off or when some unexpected acceptance came with an accompanyingcheck. She blinked back some tears. "You know I wouldn't talk like thisto anyone outside of us, but, just among us--I wish we could let Sidneydo the things we didn't do when we were her age."
"Trude, I have never heard you talk so foolishly. I'm sure our lotisn't so tragic that Sid can't share it. She has nice friends and goesto Miss Downs and hasn't a responsibility in the world--"
"Sometimes we get tired of the brand of our best friends and want achange--even yearn for responsibility!"
"I'd say we'd spoiled her enough--she doesn't need any more."
"Isolde, you simply don't want to understand me! Goodness knows Ipreach contentment the loudest--but-- Are we going to live like thisall our lives? Look at us, huddled up here, now, because the Saturdaysbelong to the League. Issy, you and I can go on because we got brokenin to it years ago. Vick won't, of course--" (flashing a smile at thedisinterested Victoria) "but little Sid--She's fifteen now. She has twomore years at Miss Downs'. She may want college--or--orsomething--different----"
Isolde lifted her shoulders with an impatient shrug. Isolde's thinshoulders were very expressive and had a way of communicating herthoughts more effectively than mere words. They silenced Trude, now.
"Do you think it's a kindness to encourage Sid to want things that wesimply can't afford to give her? You ought to know that we can't live abit differently--you keep our accounts."
Trude groaned. In any argument they always came back to that; theirpoverty was like the old wall outside that closed them around. If poorlittle Sid dreamed dreams it would be as it had been with her. Isoldewas quite right--it might be no kindness to the child to let her wantthings--like college. Yet, though silenced, Trude was not satisfied;there were surely things one could want that could surmount even theugly wall of poverty.
Vick broke into the pause.
"While we're considering Sid, what are we going to do with her thissummer? If she's going to have fits like she had this morning it'll bepleasant having her round with nothing to do. Of course if GodmotherJocelyn makes good on her promise to take me to Banff _I_ won't have toworry but--"
"Trude, have you written to Huldah asking her if she can come for Julyand August? Prof. Deering wrote last week suggesting that I spend thesummer with them in their cottage on Lake Michigan. I can more than paymy board by helping Professor Deering with his book and that willrelieve Mrs. Deering so that she can play with the children. It will bea change for me--"
"Some change, I'd say," laughed Vicky. "A crabby professor and anoverworked wife and two crying babies--"
"Professor Deering _isn't_ crabbed at all, Vick; he's a dear and thebabies are adorable and Mrs. Deering wrote that the bungalow is righton the water and that she's going to reduce the housework to almostnothing."
"It would be nice, Isolde. Why hadn't you told us of the plan? I hadbetter postpone going to New York. Aunt Edith White will invite me someother time."
"You mustn't do anything of the sort," remonstrated Isolde quickly. "Ifyou do I'll write to Mrs. Deering and tell her I cannot come. Youdidn't go to New York at Easter when Aunt Edith White invited you andshe may think you don't like to go."
"It seems terribly selfish for us to go away and leave Sid with Huldahin this lonely old house."
"She adores Huldah and she has her chums--"
"And she'll have the Egg to spend--" from Vick.
"But there's such a sameness. And the League brings so many morepeople--"
"Trude, you're positively silly about Sid. When we were fifteen--"
"Just the same, I don't want to be the one to tell her the three of usare going away to have a good time and leave her here with Huldah allsummer--"
"I'll tell her," declared Isolde, firmly. "And I'll try to make herunderstand she is
very well off. Sidney really owes more to the Leaguethan the rest of us do for we _could_ take care of ourselves. I thinkwe ought to make her appreciate that fact. Vick, look out, quick! Did Ihear Mrs. Milliken saying goodby?"
"Yes, there she goes!" cried Vick, now boldly at the window. "What luckto be free so early. Let's see how much is left of poor old Sid."
But Vick, opening the door, saw a very straight, pigtailed figure walkresolutely down the long hall toward the attic stairs. Her quick "Well,kid, how did it go?" fell upon deaf ears, nor did Sidney so much asglance in her direction.