CHAPTER IV
LEE sat limply on the edge of her cot wishing she had a husband to button her boots. Mrs. Tarleton had been very ill during the night, and her daughter’s brain and eyes were heavy. Lee had no desire for school, for anything but bed; but it was eight o’clock, examinations were approaching, and to school she must go. She glared resentfully at the long row of buttons, half inclined to wear her slippers, and finally compromised by fastening every third button. The rest of her toilette was accomplished with a like disregard for fashion. She was not pleased with her appearance and was disposed to regard life as a failure. At breakfast she received a severe reprimand from Mrs. Hayne, who informed her and the table inclusively that her hair looked as if it had been combed by a rake, and rebuttoned her frock there and then with no regard for the pride of eleven. Altogether, Lee, between her recent affliction, her tired head, and her wounded dignity, started for school in a very depressed frame of mind.
As she descended the long stair leading from the first floor of the boarding-house to the street she saw the English lad standing in the door. They had exchanged glances of curiosity and interest acrossthe table, and once he had offered her radishes, with a lively blush. That morning she had decided that he must be very nice indeed, for he had turned scarlet during Mrs. Hayne’s scolding and had scowled quite fiercely at the autocrat.
He did not look up nor move until she asked him to let her pass; he was apparently absorbed in the loud voluntary of Market Street, his cap on the back of his head, his hands in his pockets, his feet well apart. When Lee spoke, he turned swiftly and grabbed at her school-bag.
“You’re tired,” he said, with so desperate an assumption of ease that he was brutally abrupt, and Lee jumped backward a foot.
“I beg pardon,” he stammered, his eyes full of nervous tears. “But—but—you looked so tired at breakfast, and you didn’t eat; I thought I’d like to carry your books.”
Lee’s face beamed with delight, and its fatigue vanished, but she said primly: “You’re very good, I’m sure, and I like boys that do things for girls.”
“I don’t usually,” he replied hastily, as if fearful that his dignity had been compromised. “But, let’s come along. You’re late.”
They walked in silence for a few moments. The lad’s courage appeared exhausted, and Lee was casting about for a brilliant remark; she was the cleverest girl in her class and careful of her reputation. But her brain would not work this morning, and fearing that her new friend would bolt, she said precipitately:
“I’m eleven. How old are you?”
“Fourteen and eleven months.”
“My name’s Lee Tarleton. What’s yours?”
“Cecil Edward Basil Maundrell. I’ve got two more than you have.”
“Well you’re a boy, anyhow, and bigger, aren’t you? I’m named after a famous man—second cousin, General Lee. Lee was my father’s mother’s family name.”
“Who was General Lee?”
“You’d better study United States history.”
“What for?”
The question puzzled Lee, her eagle being yet in the shell. She replied rather lamely, “Well, Southern history, because my mother says we are descended from the English, and some French. It’s the last makes us creoles.”
“Oh! I’ll ask father.”
“Is he a lord?” asked Lee, with deep curiosity.
“No.”
The boy answered so abruptly that Lee stood still and stared at him. He had set his lips tightly; it would almost seem he feared something might leap from them.
“Oh—h—h! Your father has forbidden you to tell.”
The clumsy male looked helplessly at the astute female. “He isn’t a lord,” he asserted doggedly.
“You aren’t telling me all, though.”
“Perhaps I’m not. But,” impulsively, “perhaps I will some day. I hate being locked up like a tin box with papers in it. We’ve been here two weeks—at the Palace Hotel before we came to Mrs. Hayne’s—andmy head fairly aches thinking of everything I say before I say it. I hate this old California. Father won’t present any letters, and the boys I’ve met are cads. But I like you!”
“Oh, tell me!” cried Lee. Her eyes blazed and she hopped excitedly on one foot. “It’s like a real story. Tell me!”
“I’ll have to know you better. I must be sure I can trust you.” He had all at once assumed a darkly mysterious air. “I’ll walk every morning to school with you, and in the afternoons we’ll sit in the drawing-room and talk.”
“I never tell secrets. I knowlots!”
“I’ll wait a week.”
“Well; but I think it’s horrid of you. And I can’t come down this afternoon; my mother is ill. But to-morrow I have a holiday, and if you like you can come up and see me at two o’clock; and you shall carry my bag every morning to school.”
“Indeed!” He threw up his head like a young racehorse.
“You must,”—firmly. “Else you can’t come. I’ll let some other boy carry it.” Lee fibbed with a qualm, but not upon barren soil had the maternal counsel fallen.
“Oh—well—I’ll do it; but I ought to have offered. Girls ought not to tell boys what to do.”
“My mother always told her husband and brothers and cousins to do everything she wanted, and they always did it.”
“Well, I’ve got a grandmother and seven old maid aunts, and they never asked me to do a thing in theirlives. They wait on me. They’d do anything for me.”
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Boys weremadeto wait on girls.”
“They were not. I never heard such rot.”
Lee considered a moment. He was quite as aristocratic as any Southerner; there was no doubt of that. But he had been badly brought up. Her duty was plain.
“You’d be just perfect if you thought girls were more important than yourself,” she said wheedlingly.
“I’ll never do that,” he replied stoutly.
“Then we can’t be friends!”
“Oh, I say! Don’t rot like that. I won’t give you something I’ve got in my pockets, if you do.”
Lee glanced swiftly at his pockets. They bulged. “Well, I won’t any more to-day,” she said sweetly. “What have you got for me? Youarea nice boy.”
He produced an orange and a large red apple, and offered them diffidently.
Lee accepted them promptly. “Did you really buy these for me?” she demanded, her eyes flashing above the apple. “You are thebestboy!”
“I didn’t buy them on purpose, but my father bought a box of fruit yesterday and I saved these for you. They were the biggest.”
“I’m ever so much obliged.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, with equal concern for the formalities.
“This is my school.”
“Well, I’m sorry.”
“You’ll come up at two to-morrow? Number 142, third floor.”
“I will.”
They shook hands limply. He glanced back as he walked off, whistling. Lee was standing on the steps hastily disposing of her apple. She nodded gaily to him.