by Oliver Optic
CHAPTER XII
PUZZLES
In the weeks immediately after the recital Martine and Priscilla wereboth so occupied with their studies and their little duties andpleasures that they saw less than usual of each other. Martine, on whomcare sat rather lightly, ceased for the time to worry about her father.
She noticed, it is true, that her mother did not read her father's lastletter, which arrived about a week after her conversation withPriscilla.
"Is everything going on properly?" she asked eagerly, as her motherfolded the letter within its envelope.
"I hope for the best, dear. It seems too bad that your father had to goaway at this time. It was a long, hard journey, and there are stilldifficulties before him."
"Oh, I wish we could help, Lucian and I, I mean."
"You can help; indeed you have helped me immensely, by being bright andcheerful and--"
"Yes, and economical. Once in a while it seems strange to have to stopand think of money. I bought two-dollar seats for the Paderewskimatinee, although the three-dollar seats were much better, but I thoughtthat as I had invited Priscilla and Grace--as well as Miss Mings--ourhistory teacher--and as we were to go to the Somerset afterwards, Iought to be economical."
Even Mrs. Stratford smiled at Martine's intended economy, as she said,"But my dear, I think perhaps it would have been wiser to pass thismatinee by. You are not fond of instrumental music, and the whole thingmeans spending more money than you ought to spend in this way atpresent."
"Then I'll take it out of my allowance. Of course I meant to anyway. Idon't honestly care much about Paderewski myself, but Priscilla does,and most of the girls are wild about him, and everyone is going, so Ishould feel very silly to have to say I hadn't been."
"Very well, my dear, I cannot criticise you, for I gave you mypermission, but in future you must think more about the cost of things."
"Yes, mamma! indeed I often think of economizing, for even though it ispleasant here, living in an apartment with only Angelina and a cook isvery different from being in our house at home, and I know we're here tosave money. How some of the people we know would stare to see us tryingto help with the work! why, the week the cook left I actually saw youwashing dishes."
Mrs. Stratford smiled faintly; some of her Boston experiences had beentrying, but she had said little to Martine about them.
"So far as I am concerned," added Martine, "I have enjoyed everything inBoston. I have learned lots about cooking, and if it wasn't for school,sometimes I think we could manage just with Angelina. But I am going toeconomize so that papa will hardly know me when he comes home in June. Ican get along with only one tailor-made suit, and perhaps two or threenew silks this spring. But I do hope we can plan something worth whilefor the summer. Wouldn't you like the Yellowstone, with our own specialguide, papa, Lucian, and all of us, and I could invite Priscilla, and wemight have a few weeks in one of those big hotels among the mountains.What sport it would be!"
Martine paused, almost out of breath.
"We can't make many plans until we hear from your father," replied Mrs.Stratford, quietly, "but what you suggest isn't exactly in the directionof economy."
"Oh, I didn't suppose we'd have to economize always. Then you ought tospeak to Lucian, mamma, he has ordered a new touring car."
"That is the worst of indulging a boy from the cradle," and Mrs.Stratford sighed. "Last year your father told him he might have a newcar this spring, and Lucian thinks he's very moderate because he iskeeping within the two-thousand-dollar limit. I don't like to stop him,for if things come out as well as they may, he can have it."
"Two thousand dollars!" exclaimed Martine, to whom figures usually didnot mean much. "That is a large sum! Why, it would put a boy throughcollege."
She was thinking of Balfour Airton, and all that this amount of moneywould do for him.
"Mrs. Blair," continued Martine's mother, "calls Lucian very moderate inhis college expenses. He stands well in his classes, too. She says thatPhilip spent three times as much."
"And he had to leave Harvard without a degree!"
"He has made it up since, and he is doing splendidly in business."
"Edith says it's Pamela's influence that has done so much for him."
"He was lucky enough to find a girl like her to marry him."
"She certainly is a superior woman--even if she is country-born and acollege graduate, as Mrs. Blair would say," responded Martine, smiling."If only they lived nearer, I should spend half my time with cousinPamela--if she'd let me, but Lincoln seems far away in the winter.That's one thing we'd gain from Lucian's new car; those out-of-townplaces would seem close at hand."
Lucian, when Martine spoke to him about his car, admitted that he hadordered it, and he tried to laugh away her concern over family affairs.But his efforts in this direction were not really successful, and he sawthat his sister was still troubled in spite of his argument that, ifthings were really going badly, he would have heard more from hisfather.
"He'd be the last one to wish me to countermand the order. Why, everyfellow in our set has a new machine this spring. I thought I was doingsomething to send my order in so early, though of course if worse comesto worse, I can get rid of it easily enough. Mine is to be ready inJune, and I know a fellow who would take it off my hands gladly enough,as he can't get his until August. I'm going to pray, however, thatthings won't come to that pass."
Martine, fortunately, was not inclined to borrow trouble, and althoughshe by no means forgot the little conversation with her mother regardingher father's business, remembering it did not depress her. Life in thespring, even in a bleak New England spring, holds so many pleasantthings for a girl of seventeen that intangible troubles are not likelyto prevent her enjoyment of the present.
Martine was popular at school, and her invitations far exceeded those ofthe majority of her classmates. The younger girls liked her because shewas always cheerful, and never snubbed them. The older girls admired herbecause she had an air of knowing the world, and was ever ready withsome amusing story. She was popular without having many intimatefriends, and Priscilla was proud of the distinction of being the onegirl who knew Martine the best. Here and there, naturally enough, therewere girls who did not care especially for Martine. There were one ortwo who professed an inherent dislike of outsiders, as a class, andthere were others who found fault with Martine in particular. They saidthat she was forward, that she was patronizing, and that her liberalityin the spending of money was merely a way of "showing off" of which theydid not approve. But the fact that Martine, at the beginning of theschool year, had been dubbed "Brenda's ward" was more effectual than anyother one thing in placing her within the inner circle of the school. Inspite of the years that had elapsed since Brenda was a pupil at MissCrawdon's, she and her doings were still remembered. Older sisters hadtalked to younger sisters about her, and everyone knew that she had beenthe most popular girl of her day. She was still spoken of mosthabitually as "Brenda," even by those who had not known her well. For inBoston the unmarried names of girls cling to them longer than in mostcities, and those who immediately recalled "Brenda Barlow" had to thinktwice when "Mrs. Arthur Weston" was named.
Priscilla, who was nothing if not exact, remonstrated occasionally withgirls who spoke of Martine as "Brenda's ward."
"She never was really her ward, you know, only Brenda was to chaperoneher, and now that Mrs. Weston has gone away, it seems to me that thename ought to be dropped."
The girls to whom Priscilla spoke only laughed at her.
"My dear child," said Marie Taggart, "from the way you cling to her, Ijudge you would rather have Martine called 'Priscilla's ward,' butBrenda is so far away that you mustn't be jealous of her, really andtruly you must not."
After this Priscilla said no more on this subject, although an observerwould have noticed that she herself never spoke of her friend by theobnoxious title.
When Mrs. Stratford and Martine first took possession of Brenda's littleapartm
ent, Brenda's mother and sister, Mrs. Barlow and Mrs. Weston,added much to their pleasure by introducing them to their large circleof relatives and friends and in other ways, as Mrs. Barlow put it,"adopting" them in Brenda's place. But before January had come to an endthe whole Barlow household was itself preparing to move. His physicianhad prescribed a change of air for Mr. Barlow, and after a few weeks inFlorida the family intended to travel West, to join Brenda in Californiain the late spring.
It happened, therefore, that the special groups to whom Mrs. Barlow hadintroduced the Stratfords felt no personal responsibility for them. Thiswas not because they did not find the Chicagoans interesting, butbecause the latter seemed able to make their own friends without thehelp of a third person.
"It would be a great bore, mamma," Martine had protested, when one ortwo of Mrs. Barlow's friends urged that the young girl should join acertain exclusive dancing-class. "It would be a great bore if we had toact as if we were real old Bostonians. We are not, and though some ofthe sewing circles and dancing-classes, and afternoon-readings areoffered us kindly, I do prefer to be independent and know only thepeople I want to know and do only the things I really wish to do.Anything else would be a nuisance, so please don't let anyone makesocial engagements for me."
Mrs. Stratford herself was not strong, and she really preferred a quietlife. Later she saw that Martine herself had been very wise in herattitude of independence. Martine indeed was happy enough--happy in herschool acquaintances, happy in her friendship with Priscilla, andhappier in her affection for Amy. It is true that Amy in this her lastyear of college was too busy to give much time to Martine, but whenoccasionally they had a half-day together, no one could have doubtedtheir perfect understanding of each other.
On the morning before the matinee to which Mrs. Stratford had referred,or to be more exact, at twelve o'clock on the very day of the greatPaderewski recital, Martine ran out to the letter-box to post two orthree notes. Angelina could have taken them for her, or she might betterhave followed the custom of the house, which was to give them to thehall-boy. But Martine had not been out that morning, as illness amongher drawing pupils had occasioned a postponement of the usual Saturdaylesson. She had therefore seized on the letters as an excuse for gettinga breath of the fresh spring air that came in through the half-openwindows, tantalizing her and urging her to leave the house.
"I half wish I were not going to the recital," she said to herself, "ona mild sunny day like this I begrudge the hours I must spend in acrowded hall, and though I won't have to pretend to be in a seventhheaven over the music, yet it will weary me to have to show a properdegree of appreciation in the presence of my guests." So ran the courseof Martine's thoughts as she approached the letter-box. After a turn ortwo in the mall under the trees, she walked back slowly toward thehouse.
"After all," she mused, "mamma was probably right. I have beenextravagant. The tickets have really cost a pretty sum, countingpremiums and all. For what is the good in inviting guests, unless onehas the very best seats?"
This thought of the seats inclined Martine to look again at her tickets,and as soon as she reached her room she went to her desk to look atthem.
"Mamma," she called, "you haven't by any chance seen a narrow envelopewith my Paderewski tickets?"
"No, my dear," replied her mother, "surely you haven't lost them?"
"Oh, no, I remember now, I put them in a larger envelope; they werelying here with my letters."
A moment later Martine stood before her mother with dismay written onher face. "What do you suppose I have done? it's too foolish and tooannoying for anything. I can't find the envelope with the tickets and Ireally believe that I dropped it into the letter-box."
"Oh, Martine, I thought you'd outgrown those careless habits!"
"I thought so too, but there's no use in crying about spilled milk; Iwill try to do what I can to get the tickets from the postman."
"There again you talk like a baby," said Mrs. Stratford. "Surely youmust know that no postman can give you anything from a letter-box simplybecause you ask for it."
"Well, I can try, that is if there's time."
"But it's half-past twelve now, and if you are to meet Priscilla athalf-past one, you will have all you can do to dress and keep yourappointment."
"But, mamma, what _can_ I do without tickets? It will be terrible if wecan't get in, and how everyone will laugh at me. And they were such goodseats in the house."
"I am sorry for you, my child, but I can say little to help you."
While they were speaking, Martine had been making a rapid calculation.The only result at which she arrived was the impossibility of recoveringthe lost envelope.
"There's one thing I can do," she said. "I'll dress as quickly as I canand run over to the branch postoffice; then I'll beg them to look overtheir mail and see if an envelope is there with the tickets I describe."
"Of course you can try, but I feel sure that you will not succeed."
"Then what shall I do, mamma? It will be terrible to disappoint threepeople I've invited to so important an affair as this."
"There is only one thing, my dear. If you fail to recover the tickets,you can pay single admissions at the door, and if you remember thenumber of your seats or in a general way where they are, you can takepossession of them."
"Thank you, mamma, that certainly is the only way, but dear me, foursingle admissions at one dollar apiece; this is something I hadn'tplanned for, and I intended to be so economical the rest of the spring."
As quickly as she could, Martine hastened away to the postoffice, onlyto find that the mail from the box in which she had deposited herletters would not reach the office until half-past two, and that eventhen it was doubtful if the envelope would be given to her immediately.The only way, then, of saving her reputation as a hostess was to followher mother's suggestion. She met her friends as she had planned, paidfor admission to the hall and after some discussion with a rather obtuseusher at last found herself in possession of her own seats. It is to befeared that her impressions of the great pianist were sadly blurred thatafternoon. Her brain was automatically working out problems ofexpenditure. She was trying to plan in what way she could economize tomake up for the extravagance of this Paderewski matinee--to make up notonly for this, but for various other needless expenses that she hadlately incurred. So abstracted was she that she failed to join in theapplause repeatedly showered on the musician, and on leaving the hall,she had very little to say to her friends. At the hotel afterwards,however, she brightened up and confided to Priscilla and Grace the wayin which she had lost the tickets.
"I think you managed very well," said Priscilla, "I should not have hadthe least idea what to do if anything like that happened to me."
"Neither should I," added Grace, "but you are always clever aboutthings, Martine."
"Oh, no, it was all mamma; I felt quite sure at first that I should haveto telephone you not to meet me, but 'all's well that ends well,' andI'm so glad that that stupid usher let us have our seats; for you knowthey told me at the box office that actually there wasn't a seat to sellin the whole house, and ours were about the last admissions."
"You were fortunate enough," said Miss Mings who had listened withconsiderable amusement to Martine's entertaining account of her mistakeadventure.
"Our afternoon with you has been so pleasant that I should have beenvery sorry to lose it."
"Oh, I should have made it up in some way," responded Martine. "We werebound to have this little tea here, and we might have taken a drivethrough the Park instead of hearing Paderewski. Truly, now, it wouldhave been more fun, wouldn't it, Priscilla?"
Honest Priscilla shook her head.
"Nothing could have been more delightful than this concert, though ofcourse if we had had to give it up I should have made the best of it."
"As you do of everything, Prissie dear. I only wish that I were half asamiable as you."
Martine's economy did not extend very far. She refrained from doing somet
hings that she would like to have done, when to do them meant goingoutside of her regular allowance. But each month's spending money wassoon laid out on the various little things that pleased her fancy, andas she heard no more of depressing business conditions, she almostforgot her mother's warning.
A week after the matinee Martine received a letter from Elinor Naylor.
"Listen, mother," she said, "isn't this the funniest thing? Elinor saysthat a few days ago she received an unsealed letter from me--at leastthe envelope was unsealed, but there wasn't a scrap of writing inside.Instead there were four tickets for a concert by Paderewski. Shewondered why I sent them as she didn't receive them until the day afterthe date on the tickets. Now she returns them--and here they are! Isn'tit ridiculous?"
"Your carelessness certainly was ridiculous."
"I understand it all now," cried Martine. "I had addressed and stampedan envelope to Elinor, as I sometimes do when I am intending to write.Then when I wanted to put my tickets away, I picked up this envelopewithout looking at the addressed side. Of course the tickets went safelyto Philadelphia."
"'Until I looked at the date,'" Martine read from Elinor's letter, "'Ithought you had heard of my intention of coming to Boston, and meant meto hear Paderewski. But as I do not leave home until next week, theremust be some other explanation.'"
"I had no idea that Elinor was coming here," said Martine. "But I amdelighted. If she can manage it, mightn't I have her here to spend a dayor two with me? I know you would like her."
"Certainly, my dear," replied Mrs. Stratford, and when Elinor acceptedher invitation, Martine was delighted. Although Elinor could spare heronly two days, both girls made the most of their time, and parted thebest of friends, greatly to their own amusement. For both Elinor andMartine, whose friendship was of sudden growth, had begun theiracquaintance with more or less prejudice. The acquaintance had developedinto friendship chiefly through correspondence, as both girls had a giftfor writing interesting letters.
A chance commission which Elinor had entrusted to Martine the day oftheir drive to Cambridge had occasioned the first interchange of lettersafter Elinor's return to Philadelphia, and in the succeeding months theyhad continued to write once a fortnight. Thus their friendship haddeveloped without their having seen much of each other, and Elinor'sflying visit was delightful to them both in showing them how much theyreally had in common.