CHAPTER VIII--A WEEK OF PLEASURE
As Mr. Maynard occupied Eleanor's room at the Studio, and she used thecouch moved into Polly's room for the time being, it seemed difficultfor Eleanor to follow her desire to communicate with Dunlap, thereporter, as soon as she got home.
Everyone was dog-tired from the excitement and the visit at the Ashbysafterward, so there was no time lost before tumbling into bed. Eleanorfound it very hard to keep her eyes open until she could hear Pollysleeping heavily. Then she crept from the bed.
Downstairs was the print of a photograph taken a few weeks before, of agroup of Mrs. Wellington's scholars. Polly and herself were in thisgroup, and Eleanor planned to get it into the reporter's hands forreproduction to print a picture of Polly in the morning's paper.
She found the photograph without noise or trouble and then sat downbefore the telephone stand in the corner of the living room. "I hope togoodness no one upstairs will hear me talk," thought Eleanor to herself,as she gave the number to Central.
"Hello--is this 10000 Greeley?
"Give me Mr. Dunlap, please.
"The lady who said she would call him about the fire.
"No, you won't do! I want Dunlap!
"He isn't in? I don't believe you! Get off the wire!
"Hello--hello! H-e-l-lo! I want editor's desk--10000 Greeley, and bequick about it!" snapped Eleanor, feeling quite irritable because of theloss of sleep, and the strange reporter's laugh at her.
"Is this the night-editor?" now asked Eleanor, eagerly.
"U--um! May I speak to Mr. Dunlap--the reporter you assigned on the firestory uptown, to-night?
"Oh--he isn't in? Well, but he said he would wait to take some importantnotes from me. I can't believe he is out.
"Well, then, you may be the night-editor, but you sound exactly likethat fresh reporter who spoke to me a moment ago. I cannot understandwhy you employ such rude youths as he is."
Eleanor grinned to herself for she was quite sure she was speaking tothe same reporter who answered the call, at first. An answering laughconvinced her she was right, and she hissed through the telephone: "Ifyou 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 enemydowntown. The reporters of that paper are just dying to get my story."
That proved miraculous. To prevent the downtown competitor from gettingthe story, the unknown was willing to turn it over to his opponent,Dunlap.
Eleanor recognised Dunlap's voice the moment he took the 'phone, and shegave him some interesting personal facts about Polly and herself, andwhy they were now studying in New York. She talked for half-an-hour,praising Polly and her wonderful character, and finally began tellingabout the escape from Grizzly Peak at the time of the landslide. ButDunlap interrupted her with:
"I can't get all of that in--we go to press very shortly."
"Oh, dear! Can't you run over here and get this photo of Polly, that Ihave ready for you?"
"For the morning edition?" gasped Dunlap.
"Yes, to accompany the story of the fire."
"My dear young lady--do you know how long it takes to make a plate forthe paper?"
"A plate? I said 'a photograph,' Mr. Dunlap."
"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 alltakes time before the plate is ready to be stereotyped for the printingin the paper."
"Oh! I thought you just took the picture and copied it in the paper. Ofcourse, I never stopped to inquire into what process it went through.But if you say you can't use it, I'm sorry."
"So'm I. But you might bring it in early in the morning and I'll see ifthere is enough interest in the story to rake up an evening's yarn."
"Very well. I'll do that."
"Come in, anyway, and bring your friends. I'll show you through theengraving plant of the paper. You'll be interested."
"Thank you--good-by."
Eleanor hung up the receiver and listened intently to hear if anyone wasstirring upstairs. All was quiet, so she placed the photograph back onthe shelf and crept upstairs again. She jumped into bed shivering, afterbeing exposed so long to the cold, downstairs. But utter weariness soonbrought her sleep and all was forgotten until breakfast time.
Mr. Maynard, speaking, woke Eleanor. She sat up and rubbed her eyessleepily. "Thank goodness, we do not have to go to school for a wholeweek!" declared she, throwing a shoe at Polly's half-buried head.
"Polly! Pol-le--ee! Wake up!"
"Wha-foh?" grunted Polly, half-dazed.
Then both girls heard Mr. Maynard call: "I'll be right back tobreakfast, Mrs. Stewart--I'm going to the corner for the papers."
Eleanor suddenly remembered her share in the telling of the story aboutthe fire, and she jumped out of bed. "I'm going to hurry down and readwhat the paper says about the fire," said she.
Polly turned over and stretched lazily. "I don't care what they say. I'mgoing to sleep all day."
Eleanor was annoyed. "No, you won't! We've got to keep a date with Mr.Fabian this noon, and you've _got to_ get up!"
"Oh, that's so! Mr. Fabian is going to take us to Grand Central Palaceto show us how carpets are made. I forgot that exhibition was to-day."And Polly jumped up at that remembrance when other things had failed tomove her.
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 ofmorning papers from slipping out from under his arm. He held out anopened sheet for the girls to see.
"Oh, what a horrid face! Who is it?" exclaimed Eleanor.
"The paper states it is you, my dear," laughed her father.
"What--never! Oh, what awful people these newspaper men are! Dad, can'tyou go down there and horse-whip them? I never looked like that in allmy life!" and Eleanor stamped her foot in a fury.
Polly had been gazing at the two faces printed on the front sheet of themorning 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!"
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 twoheroines of the dreadful fire at Assembly Hall."
"Anne, where under the sun did the newspapers get those two pictures?"asked Polly, tittering every time she saw the ovals.
"Every newspaper has a department known as the 'morgue,' or some suchname. They keep, filed away, pictures of every well-known person in theworld. 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 ismarried, or something or other happens, the newspaper rushes to itsfiles and gets out the picture, or cut, needed.
"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.
"Now they keep lots of photographs, just like these two, which they buyfrom cheap photographers. They buy a hundred in a job lot, and if theywant a picture and can't secure a legitimate one, or a snap-shot fromthe reporter's kodak, they use what they have on hand.
"It would be extremely amusing to be present when these girls see theirfaces in the paper. It will prove almost as funny as seeing you twogirls scorning these strange faces."
But Mr. Maynard had been reading the article while Anne had explainedthe methods of many newspapers, and now he exclaimed: "By jove! Dalkennever said a word about all this life-history!"
"What's that, Daddy? Read it to us," begged Eleanor, eagerly.
"Why--wh-y-y--the young rascal hit it right on the head, all right! Butwhere did he get it?" continued Mr. Maynard.
"For pity's sake--read it aloud!" commanded Eleanor, hardly able to holdher tongue about the story.
Then Mr. Maynard read it, and it lost none of its vivid coloring by hisreading, either. When he had almost concluded, Polly began to g
rowangry. When he finished, she was furious.
"I'm going up to that office and I'll fight that reporter. He had nomore right to print that than those other men had to use someone else'sphotographs and call them ours. So there!"
Mr. Maynard had been thinking seriously, and now he nailed Eleanor witha penetrating look. "Nolla, did you tell that young rascal this storywhen you ran to the door with his pencil and paper last night?"
"No, indeed! I did not, Daddy! You can ask the butler if I ever did! Hestood right there when I handed Dunlap the pencil!"
Eleanor's denial was so emphatic that everyone believed she was innocentof any such plot; so they never found out who was the guilty one.
While at breakfast, the telephone rang. "This is Mr. Latimer, Anne. Wehave just read the papers and were so surprised! When we saw thepictures of the two heroines, we feared some dreadful thing had happenedto distort their faces so that we failed to recognise them, and Ihastened to inquire. Do you need Dr. Evans' services to straighten outthose faces?"
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 ofthe burning dwelling."
"Jim and Ken came home late last night for the Holiday. We wanted tocongratulate you girls on trying so hard for the Carnegie Medal, but nowJim wants to say 'good-morning.'"
In another moment, Jim's voice was heard speaking. "Oh, good-morning,Anne. Have you used Pears Soap?" Then a gay laugh.
"We have, but you haven't! Your father just told me you got in atmidnight, and if you're up as early as this, I'm sure the sleep hasn'tbeen washed from your eyes," retorted Anne.
Polly and Eleanor crowded close and hung over the 'phone so they couldhear what Jim had to say.
"I only wanted to say, I've got tickets for the show, to-night, and thegirls are not to go anywhere else."
"Oh, tell him we're out of town on a week-end party," Eleanor whispered,hurriedly to Anne.
"Are the tickets good for Eleanor's father and my mother, in case thegirls go out of town?" teased Anne.
"Say--you really don't mean that?" Jim's voice sounded very sad.
"I cannot tell a lie--I am like George, you see, and I'll let the girlsfib for themselves," laughed Anne, getting up from the stool and handingthe instrument to Polly.
"Oh, here, Nolla! You do it! You know I don't like this jiggery quiverything!" cried Polly, quickly placing the telephone apparatus on thetable and making room for Eleanor on the chair.
Eleanor was delighted to talk with Jim, and she kept at it until aclicking in her ear notified her that someone wanted to get them on thewire, so she hurriedly rang Jim off.
"Hello!" called Eleanor to the next inquirer.
"Hello--1234 Madison Square?"
"Yes."
"This is Mr. Ashby speaking. Is this one of the heroines?"
"Oh, Mr. Ashby! Yes, it is Nolla. What do you think of the story in thepaper--and the funny photographs?" laughed Eleanor.
"I laughed myself sick over it at breakfast. My wife and I wondered howthat young rascal got them, and James explained."
Here Eleanor turned white, for she wondered if the butler really hadseen her wink at Dunlap. "My, but I'm thankful I got at this wireinstead of Anne," said she to herself.
"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, butthinking the girls would soon be coming in to take them upstairs, he didnothing about it.
"Then in the excitement of watching Miss Polly climb the front of thehouse, and have the Chief carry her over to our house, the pictures werecompletely forgotten. As the young reporter went out, James saw MissEleanor take his hat from the stand and hand it to him. But nothing wasthought about the cards. Later, however, they were gone.
"This morning the papers have the photographs of Mary, the waitress, andGladys, the upstairs girl, as heroines of the fire. Maybe our maids arenot tickled to pieces to find themselves so famous."
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 Ipicked up his papers and hat?"
"Undoubtedly. But the joke is, he thinks you meant to do it verysecretly, you see, so he never mentioned it but hurried the work on thepictures so as to have them in the morning's paper. He most likelybelieves that that was why you ran after him--to manage to give himthose two photographs to use. I think the laugh is entirely on him,don't you, Eleanor?"
But Eleanor did not say. She sat and studied the pattern in the rug fora time, refusing to answer all the questions asked. Then she decidedthat Mr. Ashby must have heard from Dunlap that morning, and was toldhow she had added many facts to Mr. Dalken's story. But this funny errorof using the maid's photographs, was retribution on her head.
The young people, with Anne to chaperone them, enjoyed the play thatnight, and then the boys outlined the programme they had made for theweek.
The next day, being Thanksgiving, the entire party was to dine at theLatimers'. Then they would go for an automobile drive, and in theevening all would enjoy an impromptu supper and dance at the Evans'.
Friday morning the boys would take the girls skating at St. NicholasRink. They begged to attend Mr. Fabian and the girls in the afternoon atthe Textile Exhibition, then dinner at the Studio, and another play atnight.
Saturday morning the girls were going to visit Mr. Ashby's famousdecorating establishment, and get a glimpse first-hand of what a moderndecorator must do and know to succeed. In the afternoon the boys wantedto take in a matinee, but the girls were invited to dinner at theAshbys, and to spend the evening with their daughter Ruth. So Jim saidnothing, but he instantly planned how to meet the Ashbys.
"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 andSunday, partly so.
"How can we help it if our parents and chaperones do it without ourknowledge," queried Eleanor, innocently.
"Well, I'll speak to them, then. Ken and I will have to be off againnext week; so for the few days we have at home we want you girls to passup all other fun. You've got all the year for other beaux, you know,"grumbled Jim.
Polly and Eleanor laughed. "Oh, yes," said the latter, "we just keep onthe go continually, every afternoon and evening, with a devoted swaineach day to replace the ones of the day before."
"Where do you meet them?" demanded Jim, jealously.
"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."
"Yes," added Polly, entering the joke, "at night school, you know, thereare loads of young men; and at lectures and exhibitions--andeverywhere."
"Is that why you both are so crazy to go to these dry lecture affairs?"jeered Kenneth, thinking himself very clever, indeed.
But they failed to get the girls to break the engagement with theAshbys, and Jim barely managed, through his father's kind auspices, tomeet Mr. Dalken Saturday morning, and thus open the way to call on theAshbys that evening.
Mr. Dalken was young in spirit if not in years, and he enjoyed helpingthe two boys work out the little plot so as to be present with Polly andEleanor at the Ashbys, that evening. But the boys never knew that theirbenefactor passed up an exciting game of chess at his club, thatSaturday night, in order to introduce them to his friends.
There were so many wonderful things to do during that Holiday Week, thatthe girls could not attend them all. Many of their school-friends wereeager to have them at teas and parties and matinees, but all these hadto be refused with regrets. Eleanor remarked: "Wait for school to open.We'll be the most popular girls there. In fact, every last girl willwant to fag for us!"
"Why?" asked Polly, wonderingly.
"Because they think we are in such demand, eve
rywhere, that we can'taccept any invitations of theirs. Don't you suppose they have told eachother? Lots of those girls travel around together, and they talkeverything over. But I guess they are wondering who takes us out somuch, and what society we travel in." Eleanor laughed.
Polly looked at her with pity. "Nolla, sometimes I feel _so_ sorry foryou! All your joy and 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'tbelieve those girls ask us just to cater to us because we are popular. Ithink they really like us and would love to have us with them. If Iwasn't so frightfully busy with school at night, and other worth-whileoccupations, I'd jaunt about with them."
Eleanor said nothing more, but she did a lot of thinking.