50CHAPTER VIIIENTER JACK
It was the last day Lucile and Evelyn and Jessie would spend in Burleigh for some time. Since early morning they had been so busy they had scarcely found time to breathe, and it was not till five o’clock in the afternoon that Lucile slammed down the cover of her last trunk with a triumphant, “There, that’s done! Now, I wonder if I’ve thought of everything.”
Tired and happy, she flung herself upon the bed, a little meditative frown puckering her forehead, and began a mental checking up of all the hundred and one things she would need.
“I guess I have all the dresses I’ll want,” she ruminated. “Shoes and combs and brushes and ribbons and handkerchiefs—oh, I wonder if I put in my little flowered scarf; I mustn’t forget that——”
Then began a frantic searching through bureau drawers, during which the scarf failed to come to light. Finally she gave it up in despair and turned upon the two trunks so fierce a look that the only wonder is they didn’t fade then and there and vanish into thin air.
“You disgusting old things!” she cried, hotly. “I suppose you think it’s fun to go all through you again and take out all your horrid old trays and everything, just to make sure I put that scarf in. I suppose I’ll find it way down at the bottom, too.”
She was on her knees before the smaller of the two trunks and had taken out a good deal of the contents, still grumbling good-naturedly, when her mother came in.
“What are you talking to yourself about, Lucile? I could hear you way down the hall; and whatareyou doing?51I thought you had your trunks nearly packed.” Mrs. Payton’s voice was irritably impatient.
Lucile sat back on her heels with a joyful, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it—and I didn’t have to unpack the whole trunk, either!”
“Got what?” cried Mrs. Payton, sharply. “I asked you a question.”
Lucile sobered instantly. “My scarf,” she answered. “I had the trunk all packed, and then I thought of it. I guess I have everything else, though.”
“Let us hope so. As soon as you put the things back, you had better get ready for to-night. It’s pretty late.”
“All right; I guess I will have to hurry,” Lucile agreed, and finished the repacking in silence.
Five minutes later she flew to the ’phone and called up Jessie.
“Hello!” she cried. “That you, Jessie? I’ve just finished packing, and I’ve got to get dressed in a hurry. How about you?”
“I’m not quite through yet,” came the answer. “But I will be pretty soon. Mother came to my rescue a few minutes ago, and together we’re making things fly.”
“That’s good; be sure and get there in time. I haven’t any idea who will be there, but I guess there’ll be quite a crowd. You know, I’m all shaky from excitement,” she confessed.
“So am I,” said Jessie. “My hand trembles so I can hardly hold the receiver.”
“I guess it runs in the family,” said Lucile, laughing. “Well, you’d better get back to your packing—and do hurry, Jess!”
“Don’t worry! I never knew the meaning of the word till this afternoon. Good-by—oh, wait a minute! What dress are you going to wear?”
“My new white one, I guess,” said Lucile. “I’ve been undecided all afternoon whether to wear that or the pale green, but Mother thinks the white is prettier.”52
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, wear the white one, Lucy. I want to wear my blue dress, and I was afraid we might clash.”
“Oh, all right; anything for friendship’s sake,” laughed Lucile. “Good-by, Jess—hustle!”
“I’m glad that’s settled, anyway,” Lucile murmured, as she hung up the receiver. “Now I will have to rush,” and away she flew to her room, hair rumpled and eyes shining, to prepare for the dance.
The great affair had been originated by their guardian a few days before in honor of the prospective voyagers, and the girls hardly knew what they had looked forward to more, their trip to Europe or the dance.
“Oh, you look like the wild man of Borneo,” cried Lucile as she caught a glimpse in her mirror of tumbled curls and sadly rumpled dress. “It’s good you don’t have to go to the dance looking that way. They’d put you out, sure as fate. Well, here goes; let’s see how long it will take the wild man to take the form of Lucile Floyd Payton.”
Half an hour later Lucile lifted the dainty mass of lace and chiffon from her bed with a sigh of satisfaction. “When you’re on, then we’ll be all ready. Guess I’ll have to get Jane to do it up, though. I don’t know just how it goes yet.”
Jane did the work satisfactorily; so well, in fact, that when she gave the girl a little finishing pat and announced admiringly that “You surely will be queen of the ball to-night, Miss Lucy,” that young lady gave an involuntary gasp of delight.
“Oh, it’s pretty, it’s pretty!” she cried.
“Indade, an’ it’s not the only thing that has a claim to beauty,” said Jane, with an admiring glance at her young mistress. “Now, you’d better come down an’ get a bite to ate, Miss Lucy, before iverything gets cold. Ye needn’t be worryin’ ’bout yer looks the night,” she prophesied.
“Thanks, Jane,” cried Lucile, gaily. “I got ready in pretty good time, after all, didn’t I? Oh, there’s the dinner gong and I am not a bit hungry!”53
“Excitement’s no good on an empty stomach,” said Jane sagely. “Take my advice an’ ate yer fill—ye’ll be all the better for it.”
“I’ll do my best,” she promised, and ran lightly down the stairs and into the dining-room, where the family were already assembled.
“How do you like it?” she cried, dropping them a low curtsey and smiling like a little witch. “It’s the first time I’ve had it on, Mother and Dad and Phil—how do you like it? Isn’t it becoming?” and she executed several little toe-dances which brought her so near Phil that he hugged her impulsively.
“It’s a peach, and so are you, Lucy. I didn’t know you could look like that,” said he, eyeing her approvingly.
“It’s a beauty,” said her father, but his eyes were more for the rosy cheeks and dancing eyes of his little girl than they were for the beloved new dress.
Once, while Lucy and Phil were in the midst of an animated discussion about some baseball game or other that they had seen recently, Mr. Payton managed a sly wink in his wife’s direction that said more plainly than any words, “Aren’t you proud of them? And they are all ours!”
At quarter past eight the first of Mrs. Wescott’s young guests began to arrive. They came in relays of three and four, all very excited and happy and eager for a good time.
Promptly at eight thirty Lucile and Phil, with Jessie and a cousin of hers, Jack Turnbull by name, started up the drive to Mrs. Wescott’s beautiful home.
“Doesn’t it look lovely with the lights all over the place?” said Jessie.
“Yes; especially because it has looked so forsaken for the last six months,” Lucile answered. A few moments later they reached the door and were ushered into the brilliantly lighted hall.
“Lucy, stay near me, will you?” Jessie urged in a nervous whisper. “I don’t know half these people.”
“Cheer up; we’re all in the same fix,” whispered Phil over her shoulder. “We four can stick together, anyway.”54
“You have the right idea,” said Jack Turnbull, with perhaps a trifle more emphasis than was necessary, and with a glance toward Lucile, who had gone forward to meet her hostess.
“Oh, he always has the right idea,” Jessie chaffed, with a merry glance at Phil, and then she followed Lucile to her guardian’s side.
She greeted her guardian and then looked reproachfully at Lucile.
“Here, just the minute after I ask you not to go away, you desert me,” she said.
“Well, I didn’t go very far,” Lucile consoled.
Mrs. Wescott laughed. “Go up in my room and get your things off, girls,” she directed. “You’ll find Margaret and Evelyn up there. Come down as soon as you can,” she added, as they started upstairs. “I want to introduce you all around.”
“All right, we’ll hurry,” said Lucile, and then squeezed her friend’s hand. “Oh, Jessie, what a lark!” she whispered. “We’re in for a good time to-night.”
“You have the right idea, as Jack says,” answered Jessie. “Did you see him look at you, Lucy?”
“Hush! they’re right behind us,” cautioned Lucile. “Hello, girls,” she cried, as she entered the room. “I don’t see how you managed to get here before us.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” laughed Evelyn. “How lovely you look! Oh, I love your dresses—both of them! Are they new?”
“Of course they are, or we would have seen them before,” said Margaret.
“Well, we’re not the only ones, anyway,” said Lucile. “I know yours are new. They’re awfully pretty.”
“We’re all satisfied then,” said Jessie, briskly. “Lucy, will youpleaseput this pin in where it will do the most good. I never can keep this lock of hair in place.”
“You poor infant!” said Lucile. “Come here and let me fix you.”55
Then some strange girls came in and, after a few admonitory pats of stubborn bows and ruffles, the girls started downstairs. They made a pretty picture as they descended the wide staircase together, and as they reached the last step their guardian disengaged herself from a laughing group of young folks and came forward to meet them with an approving smile.
“You didn’t stay up there as long as I expected,” she laughed. “Now come in and meet everybody.”
The introductions were soon over, much to everybody’s relief, and the girls were surprised to find how many of the boys and girls they knew.
“Why, I know most all of them,” Lucile confided to Jack in a lull. “Those I don’t know to speak to, I’ve seen over and over again on the street.”
“That’s not strange,” said Jack. “There’s a great big crowd and it’s growing every minute. Here are some new arrivals!”
“Oh, it’s Marjorie and Dot, with the boys,” she cried, jumping up. “Will you excuse me a minute? I’ll be right back,” and she threw him a glance so full of sparkling mischief that his heart leaped suddenly and unaccountably, and Phil had to speak to him twice before he could make himself heard.
In half an hour the dancing began. The floor of the two great rooms that had been thrown open for the use of the guests had been polished till they shone, and at the far end of the room a platform had been erected, upon which sat the musicians, partly screened by magnificent palms. The rooms were decorated from end to end with flowers and the air was heavy with their perfume.
At an appointed signal the orchestra struck up a one-step and at that irresistible summons the boys began a mad rush to secure partners.
“Oh, I didn’t know it would be like this,” murmured Jessie.56
“Isn’t it wonderful?” cried Lucile, and the next instant a voice at her elbow pleaded, “Give me this dance, will you, Lucy?” and she looked up into Jack’s smiling face.
An answering smile flashed out. “Will I?” she cried, and led the way, Phil and Jessie following.
Another instant and she was being whirled away on Jack’s arm, and Jack, who had won renown for his dancing among his New York associates, thought he had never danced with anyone so lovely and so exquisitely graceful as this friend of Jessie’s.
“You dance wonderfully,” was Jack’s comment. “Anybody could tell you love it.”
“Oh, I do,” said Lucile, fervently. “There’s nothing like it.”
“Nor you,” said Jack, and he believed it.
The girls never forgot that night. A new world seemed to open before them—a world they never knew existed. A world filled with bright lights and music, where every one danced and laughed and was thrillingly and unbelievably joyful.
And Lucile, who had never dreamed of anything like this, suddenly found herself the very center of attraction. The crowd was always thickest about her and Jessie and Evelyn, and she was so deluged with requests for the next dance that her order was filled in no time and Jack had all he could do to squeeze in two numbers at the very end.
Some of the boys, to be perfectly frank, quite a few, were awkward and stepped on the toes of her dainty little white pumps until they were very nearly black, but she was so happy as to be absolutely oblivious of such trifles, while the awkward youths fell entirely under the spell of her sparkling, fun-filled eyes and the merry, bubbling laugh that seemed to overflow from sheer joy.
Once Jessie managed to whisper to her, “Miss—Mrs. Wescott didn’t say she was going to have such a wonderful affair as this. Were you in the secret, Lucy?”
“No; there wasn’t any secret. Our guardian just did it as a splendid surprise, the dear,” said Lucile, and her eyes57traveled to where her guardian and her husband were standing with a group of older people who had come later in the evening to enjoy the fun and to help the young Wescotts do the chaperoning.
“She is all right,” agreed Jessie. “And doesn’t Jack Wescott look splendid? I believe he’s handsomer now than he was in the country.”
“He is fine looking,” Lucile admitted, grudgingly. “Just the same, I’ll never quite forgive him.”
Jack took Lucile into dinner. It required skillful manoeuvering on his part and he never could tell afterward how it happened, but the fact remains that he finally succeeded in extricating her from the mob and started with her toward the dining-room.
“Where’s Jessie? I promised to wait for her,” said Lucile, half turning round. “She’s lost in the crowd, I guess.”
“Probably,” said Jack, perfectly satisfied with this solution. “You needn’t worry about her. Phil will see that she finds her way to the dining-room all right.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” laughed Lucile, and so the matter was settled, to their satisfaction at least.
After dinner the last few dances passed rapidly—far too quickly for the happy young folks. As the last notes of “Home, Sweet Home” died away, Jack turned to his radiant little partner.
“It seems to me they cut that dance mighty short,” said he. “I wish they would give us an encore.”
“Yes, aren’t they stingy?” Lucile agreed, as the frantic applause brought no response from the bored musicians, who were already putting away their music. “It must be pretty hard for them,” she added, as Jack started to pilot her toward the door. “They have to do all the work while we have the fun.”
“Yes, but they have the fun of getting paid for it,” Jack suggested, practically.
Lucile laughed. “I never thought of it in that light before,” she said, and then added, with a sigh, “Well, I suppose it’s all over now.”58
“Sorry?” whispered Jack.
“Of course; aren’t you?” she countered, with a quick upward glance, that fell before his steady gaze.
Jack answered softly, as several of the girls and boys approached “More sorry than I can make you understand—now.”
Lucile thrilled with a new, strange emotion that she could not analyze; she only knew it was absurdly hard to look at Jack, and that she was immensely relieved when Evelyn greeted her with a merry, “Don’t you wish it were beginning all over again, Lucy? I don’t feel a bit like going home.”
“That seems to be the general cry,” broke in Marjorie. “And to think that you girls are going away to-morrow!” she added. “You’ll be tired out after to-night.”
“Oh, we’re not going till late in the afternoon, so we can sleep all we want to in the morning. All the packing is done,” said Jessie, reassuringly.
“But who speaks of sleep?” broke in Lucile, gaily. “I never felt so far from it in all my life.”
“No, but you’ll feel mighty near it about two o’clock to-morrow afternoon, if I’m any judge,” Phil prophesied, grimly.
“Well, everybody knows you’re not,” said Lucile, running lightly up the stairs and stopping to make a laughing face at her brother over the banister. “Come on, girls,” she cried. “Everybody’s going and we haven’t even started yet.”
The girls followed her, laughing merrily, and Phil grinned at the fellows. “You can’t get the best of Lucy,” he said.
An hour later Lucile put out the light and crept into bed with a sigh. “Such a wonderful time,” she breathed, “and heisgood looking. Jack——” Then she smiled whimsically into the dark. “It must run in the name,” she said.
59CHAPTER IXHURRAH, FOR EUROPE!
Lucile opened one sleepy eye upon the busily ticking little clock on the table. As she looked, her gaze became fixed and she sat up in bed with a startled exclamation.
“Eleven o’clock!” she cried. “Oh, it can’t be!” she added, with sudden inspiration, which was clouded with disappointment the next minute as the steady ticking continued.
“How silly!” she said, laughing at herself. “Since it’s still going, it’s certain that it hasn’t stopped.” With which profound remark she slipped out of bed and into her dressing gown.
“Oh, how could I waste so much time on sleep,” she marveled, “when to-day means—Europe? Oh, I can never wait to get dressed!”
She did wait, however, and when she had donned her dress and tucked her unruly curls into place, she looked as fresh and sweet as a flower. She finished her toilet in breathless haste, and as she flung open the door of her room she nearly ran into Phil, who was tearing down the hall toward her.
“Hello, Sis; it’s about time you were up,” was his greeting. “Mother said to call you if you weren’t. Do you know what time it is?” he queried, regarding her severely.
“Yes, I know what time it is, Grandad,” she mimicked, and, catching him about the neck, she began to do a series of steps not standardized in the Vernon Castle repertoire. “Come on, old sobersides,” she laughed; “dance for your life. I’ll be the orchestra.”
Phil was nothing if not a “sport,” so he grasped his sister around the waist and away they went down the hall at a great rate, Lucile singing like mad, until the sounds of60merriment reached Mr. Payton in the library and out he came, paper in hand, to have his share of the fun.
He was greeted by a peal of laughter, and Lucile cried, “Stop stepping on my toes, Phil, for goodness’ sakes! See, it goes like this.”
“What’s all the rumpus about?” thundered Mr. Payton, in his hearty voice, and Lucile poked her bright face over the banister to smile impishly and threw him a kiss.
“Dancing, Dad; don’t you want to try?” she challenged.
“Sure,” was the unexpected reply, “only leave a little of the stairs, please,” as they came down two steps at a time and landed right side up with care.
Then Mr. Payton was hugged and kissed and called a “dear” and dragged into the library, where the rugs were rolled up and full preparations made for the first dancing lesson. They were in full swing, with the Victrola going and Lucile counting “One-two-three, one-two-three,” when Mrs. Payton came in.
She looked her disapproval of the disorderly room, but when her glance rested on her husband, who proved surprisingly light on his feet for so heavy a man, her eyes filled with interest and she sat down to watch.
When the record stopped, Lucile turned shining eyes on her mother. “Wasn’t that fine, Mother?” while Phil burst out with, “Bravo, Dad! I had no idea you could do it.”
“All due to my very able teacher,” said Mr. Payton, modestly. “Don’t you want to try it, Nell?” he asked. “It’s more fun than you can imagine. I remember that when I first met you there was no better dancer on the floor, dear. Come on and try.”
“I always used to love to dance,” Mrs. Payton admitted, and that admission was enough for Lucile.
“I tell you what we’ll do,” she said. “You take Mother, Phil, and I’ll take Dad. Oh, what a lark!”
It was half an hour before the Paytons could bring themselves down to a consideration of the sober and substantial things of life, and then it took Mrs. Payton to do it.61
“Lucile,” she cried, stopping in the middle of a dance to gaze upon her daughter, “I don’t believe you’ve had a mouthful of anything to eat since you got up, and it’s after twelve o’clock.”
“Oh, I forgot,” said Lucy, and then added naively, “Now I come to think of it, though, I am hungry.”
“Of course you are. Run along and tell Mary to make you some toast. That will last you till we all have lunch, which will be pretty soon now.”
“I hope so,” said Phil, who was always ready for his three good meals a day. “I begin to feel the ravages of famine,” he groaned.
“If you are real good, I may give you a piece of my toast,” Lucile promised.
“No, don’t, Lucy; it will only spoil his dinner,” said Mrs. Payton. “Dancing does give you an appetite, though, doesn’t it?” she added, at which Lucile smiled to herself, for it was very, very long since she had seen her mother unbend so far.
“If dancing will do it,” she decided, on her way to the kitchen, “we’ll dance from here to Jericho,” and the firm lines of her mouth showed that she meant it.
At half past four Phil put on his hat and announced his intention of going round for the girls.
“You needn’t stop for Jessie,” Lucile called after him; “nor for Evelyn either, for that matter. All their folks are coming along to see us off.”
“I’m going anyway,” he replied, briefly, and Lucile called gaily after him, “There’s a reason,” and shut the door before he could retort.
Mrs. Payton met her in the hall.
“Better get your hat and coat on, Lucy. It’s almost time to start.”
As Lucile ran lightly up the stairs and into her room, her heart beat fast and her face flamed with excitement.
“We’re going, we’re going!” she sang, as she slipped into her coat and pulled her hat—a perky little affair with a blue bow at the side, that held in place a black wing set62at an aggravating angle—down over one eye and then surveyed herself critically.
“Guess I’m all right,” she said, pushing a stray lock into place with experienced fingers. “Now for my gloves and bag and I’ll be ready. Coming, Mother!” This last to an impatient command from the lower regions. “Will you ask Dad if he took my Gladstone bag downstairs?”
Mr. Payton replied in person that he had, and Lucile stepped out in the hall and closed the door softly. She paused at the head of the stairs to still the tumultuous beating of her heart, for it seemed to her that it could be heard a mile away. It was all so new and strange and wonderful—and now that their great dream was to be realized so soon, she felt more than ever that it must be a dream and nothing more. She wondered if Jessie and Evelyn were feeling that way, too, and then she heard the clamor of voices on the porch and knew that they had come.
Then a sort of panic seized her, as she realized that Jack Turnbull would be with them. She knew he would, for that had been the last thing he had said to her last night—oh, how very far away it seemed! Half unconsciously, she straightened her little hat and ran downstairs, just in time to answer Phil’s urgent, “Where’s Lucy?” with a merry, “Here, Phil; bag and baggage!”
Everybody turned to greet the radiant little figure, and Lucile included them all in her bright, “How’s everybody?”
“Rather shaky,” Evelyn answered, in an awe-struck voice, and everybody laughed good-naturedly.
“Well, what do you say if we start?” suggested Mr. Payton. “We are all here and we might as well have plenty of time. We don’t want to have to hurry.”
They all agreed, and so, with a great deal of noise and laughter, the party started out. Lucile ran back to say a word of good-by to Mary and Jane, who, good souls, were weeping heartily at the thought of parting with the family for so long. With difficulty she managed to break away from them, and on her way back came face to face with—Jack!63
“Oh,” she stammered, “I thought they—everybody—had gone!”
“So they have, but I came back to get you and—tell you to hurry,” he replied, with a laugh. It was a very frank, nice laugh, Lucile decided, and she was very glad he had come back, so she answered him gaily and they started out to overtake the others.
At least, Lucile did, but, after covering a half-block at a fast walk, that was almost a run, Jack protested.
“What’s your awful hurry?” he queried, reproachfully. “You have an hour to catch the train, so why rush?”
Lucile opened her eyes wide in feigned astonishment.
“Why, I’m only following instructions,” she teased. “You told me to hurry, and so I’m trying to.”
“With great success,” he added, with a smile of understanding. “Just the same, you know I didn’t mean it that way. I had to see you and I needed some excuse. I won’t have a chance to see you for a long, long time, you know.”
Lucile looked up quickly, this time in real surprise.
“But I thought you were going back to New York to-day, anyway,” she said.
“So I am, but there isn’t the width of the Atlantic between New York and Burleigh,” he answered meaningly.
Just then Evelyn turned around and, making a megaphone of her hand, shouted, “Better hurry up; we’ll miss the train.”
“Plenty of time,” Jack threw back, pleasantly. “Got half an hour yet.”
“Aw, there’s something wrong with your watch,” Phil retorted. “Next time you buy an Ingersoll, see that you get your money’s worth.”
“Thanks!” drawled Jack, but Lucile looked anxious.
“Perhaps we would better catch up with the rest of them,” she suggested. “The front ranks have quite a start on us, and we don’t want to keep them waiting.”
“Oh, all right,” agreed Jack cheerfully. “Give me your hand and we’ll do a hundred-yard dash in record time.”64
Lucile took the proffered hand and away they went like two happy children, reaching the rest of the party a moment later, out of breath but triumphant.
“Didn’t I tell you we’d break the record?” laughed Jack, forgetting for the moment to release her hand. “You’re some little runner, too,” he added, admiringly.
“Speak for yourself,” she threw back gaily. “That was a good run, though. I guess we won’t miss the train now.”
“Not an unmixed blessing,” Jack grumbled, at which they all laughed with such infectious mirth that more than one passer-by turned to smile after them.
They arrived at the station in plenty of time, after all, for it was fully fifteen minutes before a distant toot announced the coming of the train that was to carry them to New York. It had been Mr. Payton’s intention in the first place to take passage on one of the smaller steamers, but the girls had been so evidently disappointed, although, to do them credit, they had tried their very best not to let him see it, that he had changed his plans at the last minute and had decided to take passage from New York on the great steamer “Mauretania.”
In talking things over, the girls’ parents and one or two of their relatives had decided to take the trip with them as far as New York, and from there give them a glorious send-off.
The girls’ desire and curiosity to see the great metropolis had been heightened by their guardian’s vivid recitals of her experiences, and they were on edge with expectancy.
“I wish we were going to spend some time in New York,” Phil was saying. “We just shoot in and then right out again.”
“You ungrateful heathen!” Lucile chided. “What do you expect? I’d like to spend a year in New York, too, but we can’t do everything at once.”
What Jack might have replied will never be known for just then they heard the whistle of the train. The journey had begun.
65CHAPTER XWHIRLED THROUGH THE NIGHT
Mile after mile, the long train rumbled on over shining rails that fell away behind and merged in the far-distant sky-line. The first rays of the morning sun struck on the brilliant metal and gathered up the dazzled sunbeams to scatter them broadcast over hills and fields and flying houses. Now and then the hoarse whistle of the engine broke the early morning quiet, only to be flung back on itself by wood and cave and mountainside in a scornful shout of mockery.
And still the girls slept on in the dreamless, heavy sleep of tired girlhood. Of course, not one of the three had had the least intention of doing anything so commonplace as going to sleep; in fact, the very idea had been vaguely irritating. Had they not looked forward to this very thing for months—at least, so it seemed to them—and it was almost impossible for them to have patience with the idiocy of any one who could calmly suggest slumber at such a time. And Phil—for it was at him that this Parthian shot had been aimed—had evinced remarkable self-control, in that he had refused to argue, but had continued to smile in an aggravatingly superior manner, which had said more plainly than words: “You think you mean it, no doubt, but I, who am wise, know what simpletons you are.”
Of course, Phil was right, as they had known in their hearts he would be, in spite of all their resolution, and it was not until the sun struck through the little window and dashed upon Lucile’s sleeping face in a golden shower that she stirred impatiently and brushed her hand across her eyes.
Fifteen minutes later, in dressing gown and cap, she pushed aside the curtain into the aisle and crept out,66meaning to steal a march on the others. She let the curtain fall with a little gasp of astonishment, for as she looked, two other curtains moved stealthily, animated by unseen hands, and two heads popped simultaneously into the aisle. Jessie and Evelyn looked at each other, then at Lucile, vacantly at first, and then, as the truth dawned upon them, they began to laugh.
“Oh,” gasped Lucile, “I thought I was the only one awake, and here you two come along and spoil my well-laid plans.”
“The well-laid plans of mice and men
Aft gang agley,”
quoted Jessie.
“Stop spouting poetry before breakfast,” commanded Evelyn. “You might wait until I get strength to bear it.”
“There she goes! First thing in the morning, too,” said Jessie, despairingly.
Lucile laughed, and, taking each disputant by an arm, hurried them along the aisle.
“May I ask our destination?” queried Jessie, with the utmost politeness.
“Certainly,” Lucile agreed, cheerfully, and then, as no further explanation seemed forthcoming, Jessie added, with an air of indefinite patience, “Well?”
“Go ahead, ask all the questions you like,” said Lucile, with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m not going to answer them, though,” and, with a little laugh, she pushed her before her into a little room at the farther end of the car.
“A-ha, a mirror!” cried Jessie. “Lucile, I forgive all.”
“Thanks,” replied Lucile, laconically. “Even at that, you needn’t take up the whole mirror, you know.”
“Oh, you can look on both sides,” said Jessie, serenely.
The girls laughed.
“The only wonder is that we showed almost human intelligence in bringing our combs along,” Lucile remarked, after a moment.
“Not at all,” observed Jessie, grandly. “We only followed a very obvious line of reasoning.”67
“A very which?” asked Evelyn, turning round with her comb poised in mid-air. “If you must talk, kindly speak United States, Jessie.”
Jessie turned upon her friend a look in which was more of pity than of anger.
“It is evident,” she remarked sadly, “that there is one among us who has never grasped the opportunity for learning afforded by our present-day civilization——”
“Jessie, darling,” broke in Lucile, sweetly, “if you don’t come down from your soap box pretty soon, I’m afraid we’ll have to resort to force. Much as we would hate to,” she added, apologetically.
Evelyn threw up her hands in desperation.
“You’re just as bad as Jessie, Lucy,” she accused. “I’m going in and see if I can’t find peace. The boys ought to be up by this time,” she added, slyly.
The girls laughed as the door slammed behind her, and Lucile exclaimed, with a little flourish of her comb, “Come on, Jess; I’m ready for the fray.” And, with arms about each other, girl fashion, they followed Evelyn into the aisle.
How could they know on that morning, when their hearts were full and their heads light with the heady wine of Spring, that before three months had sped, they would feel the strands of the mighty web of nations tighten about them; that they would see the beginning of the greatest war the world has ever known? Perhaps it was just as well that they were not gifted with prophecy, for the grim shadow of war that hung menacingly over all Europe would have darkened this bright morning and would have tinted all the hills and countryside with the grayish hue of impending disaster.
As it was, there was no cloud to darken the horizon of their exuberant happiness and they gave full rein to their high spirits.
As Evelyn had said, the boys were up when they returned, and they were not the only ones, for the train seemed suddenly to have come to life. Voices called merrily to each other from different points in the car, and68everywhere was the stir and bustle of awakened and refreshed humanity.
As Lucile and Jessie made their way through the car, they encountered several women, apparently bound for the dressing-room.
“It’s good we got there early,” said Lucile. “If we hadn’t, we never would have gotten a chance at the mirror.”
“You’re just right,” laughed Jessie. “There wasn’t room enough for three of us, let alone a half a dozen.”
A moment later they joined a group of their own folks at the other end of the car. They flung a merry greeting.
“Well, well, girls,” observed Mr. Payton, catching sight of the girls out of the corner of his eye, “we thought you were lost.”
“I didn’t think so,” said Phil. “Evelyn said you might be in there half an hour if you had good luck, so we didn’t expect you so soon.”
The girls threw a reproachful look at the traitress, who made a defiant little mouth at them.
“Well, I had to get even with you some way,” she cried.
Just then Jack, who had been trapped into a discussion with some of the men and had been anxiously watching for a chance to escape, suddenly finding it, excused himself and joined the young folks.
“What’s the row?” he asked casually.
“Nothing, save that we have a traitress in our midst,” declaimed Jessie, dramatically.
“How exciting!” drawled her cousin. Then, turning to Lucile, he inquired, lightly:
“Did you get any sleep last night, or were the bumps too much for you?”
“The bumps didn’t worry me at all,” she confessed, as she smiled whimsically. “In fact, I didn’t know there were any.”
“How about something to eat?”
It was Mr. Payton who voiced the welcome suggestion, and there was a prompt shout of approval from all hands.69
“You have said it, Dad,” commended Phil. “If we start now, we’ll get there before the crowd.”
So off went the merry company to the dining-car, where the tempting odors made them more ravenous than before, if such a thing were possible, and Phil kept on ordering until it seemed as though the rest of the passengers would have to go on short commons.
The early morning passed quickly and it was no time at all before Jack announced to Lucile—for he was never very far from her side—that they would reach New York within the next hour.
Then, as Jack had said, at exactly five minutes of nine—the authority for the time being Phil’s beloved chronometer, which he declared, and devoutly believed as well, varied hardly a second during the year—the train glided smoothly into the station and they reached—New York!
The girls stood with shining eyes and breath that came and went quickly through parted lips. Then, as the porter shouted in stentorian tones, “New Yawk—all out!” they moved half dazedly through the crowd and out on the great platform, where the din half fascinated, half frightened them.
“Stick close together, everybody,” Mr. Payton directed. “It wouldn’t be any joke if we got separated!”
Lucile had faced many situations and never turned a hair, but now the roar of the great metropolis, the rumble of the hand-cars on the platform as the heavy baggage was carted to and from the trains, the shrieking of engine whistles, the hoarse cries of the train-hands, all combined in such a menacing roar that for a moment she had a wild desire to run and hide somewhere, anywhere to get away from the thunderous din.
It was only for a second, however, for, as Jack slipped a reassuring arm through hers, she looked up at him with her old, confident smile.
“I’ll see that you don’t get lost or run over,” he said, comfortingly, with that air of protection that all men, even very young ones like Jack, love to assume toward girls and women, especially pretty ones.70
And it must be noted that from that instant Jack Turnbull rose forty good points in Lucile’s estimation. It gave her a feeling of grateful security to be piloted through the crowd in this masterly fashion. Soon they had covered the length of the platform and had reached the curb, which was lined with cabs and taxis.
“Here, pile in, all of you,” Mr. Payton commanded, as he looked around to see if they were all there. “I guess you five young people can manage to squeeze into one car. Come, Nellie,” to his wife, “you get right in here,” and he proceeded, with the other men, to help the ladies into the two waiting cabs.
“Pretty close quarters,” said Jack, as he slipped into the square inch of space between Jessie and Evelyn. “I suppose I might have walked,” he was adding, doubtfully, when Lucile broke in with a decided, “Indeed, you shouldn’t have thought of such a thing! What difference does it make if we are a little crowded?”
“That’s all very well for you, Lucy; you’re not having the breath squeezed out of you,” Jessie began, when Phil interrupted, mischievously:
“Why don’t you change places? Lucy doesn’t mind and you do, Jess.”
“You have it!” exclaimed Jack, enthusiastically. “The first minute I saw you, I said to myself, ‘That fellow has brains.’ Come on Jess; vacate,” and he slipped his arm about his cousin, gently lifting her from the seat.
“Go ahead, Lucy,” urged Evelyn from her corner.
So, with a great deal of merriment, the exchange was made, much to the satisfaction of everyone concerned.
The rest of the journey through the traffic-laden streets to the hotel was so vivid a panorama of shifting scenes that, to the unaccustomed eyes of the girls, it seemed like one confused blur.
“Oh, are we there already?” Lucile exclaimed, regretfully, as the taxi stopped abruptly before the great white pile of the Hotel McAlpin. “The ride has seemed so short!”71
“I wish you were going to stay in New York,” Jack whispered, as he helped her to alight. “We’d get my car and whiz all around this old city until you’d know it better than Burleigh.”
“Oh, if I only could!” she cried, her eyes alight with the very thought. “Wouldn’t it be fun?”
“You just bet it would,” he agreed, with a warmth that brought even a brighter color to her face.
An instant later they were joined by the others and they passed through the imposing entrance.
In the hotel office the girls drew close together, and Lucile said, in a voice scarcely above a whisper, “So this is New York!”
“Do you like it as much as you thought you would?” asked Phil, overhearing.
The girls turned wonder-filled eyes upon him.
“Oh, much more!” they chorused, with a vehemence that left no room for doubt.