The whole thing struck me all in a heap, and just before the end of our dance, I commenced to laugh. Then Billie, for whom you need not diagram your feelings to have them understood, commenced to laugh, too, and soon we had attracted the attention of several of the dancers, including Caroline, Tommie, and Lillian Barton, who looked at us with all the evidences of curiosity. During the intermission for refreshments, Miss Riddick and her escort, who was none other than my friend Scott Green, of Baltimore, got Tommie and me in a corner, where we had a very lively time, indeed. Green, as I have told you before, is very much taken with Miss Dawson. But you need not get jealous, for I don’t believe she has anything but the most ordinarily friendly feeling for him. We had hardly gotten seated when here comes Lillian Barton, towing my friend Reese, and they had hardly seated themselves when Caroline arrived with the doctor, and, when the smoke had cleared away, Caroline was sitting between me and Miss Barton, with Tommie on the other side of me and Dr. King in front. Caroline took the door and held it against all comers, and she treated me as if I were a long-lost favorite brother. She gave me part of her salad, sweetened my coffee herself, adjusted my napkin, and overwhelmed me with little attentions. The whole thing puzzled me not a little, it was in such marked contrast to her conduct of the past two or three weeks. But, as I have learned to take women much as they come, I attacked the good things on my plate without letting my state of puzzlement interfere with my appetite.
But in the midst of it all, something struck Miss Riddick as funny, and she commenced to laugh, at first quietly, then staccato fashion, in convulsive sobs. The men all stopped eating to look at her, but I noted, even in my perplexity, that the women, except Billie herself, ate on steadily, as if they would ignore this diversion, though both Caroline and Lillian Barton were flushed and they looked distinctly irritated and annoyed. Finally Billie, unable to control herself, had to be excused, and departed, still laughing helplessly, for the ladies’ dressing room, whence she emerged only just as the music started up again.
There seem to be a lot of crosscurrents moving under the surface of our social sea. Just as the music started, and I was looking about for Tommie, up comes Don Verney, who had arrived very late, and, after two or three words of greeting, he made these mysterious remarks.
“Are you a good soldier? ” he asked suddenly.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Can you follow directions without asking questions?”
“Surely,” said I.
“Then cultivate Billie Riddick,” he said, looking inscrutable, as only he can look. Then he turned away to greet a lady, and left me gaping. At this moment, Tommie appeared, and, noticing my blank look, asked me what was the matter.
“There seem to be a lot of things going on here which I don’t understand,” I said.
“Yes?” said Tommie with a rising inflection in her voice, and a very merry twinkle in her eye. “My dear Davy, it’s an old, old saying that ‘There are none so blind as those who will not see,’ and there’s another one goes with it: ‘Ears have they, and hear not.’ The trouble with you is, Davy, that more, perhaps, than most people, you absolutely require perspective to see at all. But, come on, that music is too pretty to waste.”
One thing is sure, and of that I have no doubt whatever, namely, that Tommie Dawson is a perfectly heavenly dancer. I believe you agree with me in that opinion. So I soon forgot for the moment all those things which were overworking my curiosity, and enjoyed the moment to the full. Don’t you envy me, Bob? Well, just to make you feel a little better, I’ll tell you something she said. When the music stopped, I said to your dear friend:
“Tommie, that was an absolutely perfect dance, don’t you think so?” And what do you think she said? I won’t make you wait longer. She said:
“It was almost perfect, Davy. There’s only one person in the world with whom it would have been as enjoyable, and that is our soldier boy. I wish he were here. I miss him a whole lot.”
Now I know you’ll be glad you waded patiently through all of my puzzles and perplexities to reach this point. It was worth it, don’t you think so?
Well, I took Don’s advice, or perhaps, I should say better, I followed his order, and cultivated Billie Riddick, and I was perfectly amazed to see how she responded. If you had seen us, you would have thought we were sweethearts of long standing. For a few minutes I was tempted to think that it was I she liked, so cordial was she and so eagerly did she meet me halfway, but soon something set my mind at rest as to that. But everything in its own time.
I had a very lively evening, and the air was electric with flashing crosscurrents. Indeed, I was quite overwhelmed to find how interesting this merely momentary cultivation of Miss Billie seemed to be to a number of people. You can guess who they were, so I need not mention them. There was not a moment when we seemed free from some kind of surveillance. Stimulated by this interest, I threw myself into the game with zest, and the evening, which had begun rather unpleasantly, was not half bad after all. Miss Riddick and I furnished the climax of the evening by actually sitting out one dance in the balcony, while she opened her heart to me about Dr. King. It is curious how love seems to transform some people. While she is talking of him, she seems an entirely different person from the hard, sophisticated young woman to whom I was first introduced by Morris Jeffreys so many weeks ago.
I got one interesting point at least from this interview. She does not believe that Caroline cares very deeply for the doctor. While we were sitting up on the balcony with our heads together, I was conscious of many inquiring glances directed our way. Don Verney, especially, seemed to get a lot of fun out of the situation, and smiled widely at us each time he passed within eyeshot, dancing with Lillian Barton. I discovered in talking with Billie that she was going next Friday night to the Merry Coterie’s card party, to which I had been invited also. It’s another one of those affairs where the men come in about ten-thirty, when the games are over. So, still following Don’s lead, I asked Billie if I might not take care of her for that evening. Her eyes flashed visibly as I voiced my invitation. She said Scott Green had asked her, but she had not given him an answer, so that she could fix it all right. I might consider the matter settled. I was to call for her just before eight to take her to the card party, which began early, and then I was to come back at ten-thirty.
When we were putting on our wraps at the entrance to the coatroom, Billie and Scott Green came up to where Caroline, Tommie, the doctor, and I were standing, and bade us good night most cordially and effusively, leaving me for the last.
“Au revoir, Mr. Carr,” she said, “don’t forget it’s a quarter to eight.” And with one of her dazzling smiles, she slipped her arm through Scott Green’s and left us with a flourish. As I struggled into my overcoat, I stole a look at the others. As Dr. King’s back was turned to me, I was deprived of the possibility of seeing his reaction to Billie’s remarks, but Tommie’s brow was drawn into deep thought wrinkles, and Caroline stood openmouthed. As they, by one impulse, turned to look at me, I made a point, in my effort to get into my coat, to turn my back on them.
It was a silent party in Dr. King’s car, though the thoughts were almost vocal. Just before we drew up at the Rhodeses’ house, however, Caroline broke the silence.
Smothering a yawn with her hand, she turned to Tommie, and in the coolest, most matter-of-fact tone in the world she said:
“Did you notice how old Billie Riddick is looking? She really ought to stop going so much.”
What Tommie would have answered, I really cannot guess, for at that moment the car stopped in front of the house, and Dr. King swung the door open.
When I was at Tommie’s last night for a few minutes, I saw the new photo. It is a good one, there is no doubt of that. I told Tommie that I thought she had enough pictures of you, but she answered that she wanted one in civilian attire, for all she had were taken in uniform. I suppose if she expressed a desire for the moon you would rush and try to get it. Buddie,
I fear your days of freedom are over, for this time you have swallowed hook, line, and sinker, and there is little or no use in trying to wiggle, even. Tell Sallie Cole that I say she is wasting her valuable time being nice to you. You are what my old nurse used to call “a gone goose.” But no doubt you endure your hopeless state with remarkable serenity.
Davy
TWELVE
Saturday, January 27
Dear Bob:
In my last I told you that I had made an engagement with Billie Riddick to go to the Merry Coterie’s meeting at the house of Mrs. Dill, a very gay matron, and the wife of Dr. Dill. Well, if I had realized what was to be the outcome of that engagement, I guess I would have called it off on some pretext or other. But it’s too late now to think of that. So like Pangloss in Voltaire’s Candide, I can only keep saying, “Everything is for the best in this best of all possible worlds.” Maybe if I say that often enough I shall really come to believe it. As things stand now, however, I can’t say it with anything like a ring of conviction in my voice, for things are in a pretty mess. Don no doubt meant well when he gave me his advice to cultivate Billie, but at this moment as I write I am wishing most fervently that he had kept his advice to himself. But you don’t know what I am raving about, do you? Well, I’ll set it down for you in chronological order.
For some reason, known only to herself, Billie Riddick decided to meet me more than halfway in my little campaign entered upon the other night at Don Verney’s instance, and she has kept the ’phone going in the interim. In practically every case it happened that Caroline answered the ’phone, and, from what I can gather, in each case Billie told her name. So I conducted protracted and lively conversations with the voluble Billie, and, as a result of one of these talks, I called for her, and took her to the movies where, as luck would have it, I saw pretty nearly everyone I know, including Caroline and Dr. King. That was, indeed, a lively evening. The following evening Tommie, who had been in Caroline’s room during the hour just after dinner, came up for a few minutes to talk about you, but during our conversation I once or twice noted her eying me very seriously, with somewhat of a puzzled air.
But I must get to last night’s party, for—to distort Hamlet somewhat—“the party’s the thing!” First of all I called for Billie at about seven forty-five and took her to the Dills’ house. When we drove up, as luck would have it, we ran into five people going in, including Mary Hale, Caroline, and Mrs. Morrow. It was a moment full of possibilities, and I shall have to give it to Billie—she certainly made the most of it, without in the least overdoing it. Whatever may be her faults, and one or two of them seem fairly obvious, stupidity and lack of savoir faire are not among them. The more I have seen of her, the more I am compelled to admire her resourcefulness. Well—to hasten on a bit—our entrance into the scene and my exit were dramatic in the extreme, and we got the maximum effect. As I had not yet dressed for the evening, I rode home and dismissed the taxi. After an hour of reading I dressed leisurely, and strolled back to Dr. Dill’s, picking up Don on the way. When we arrived everything was in full blast, for the Merry Coterie is the most boisterous crowd in town, and they were making enough noise to wake the dead.
By the way, I almost forgot to tell you that Paul Thomas, after ten days of strenuous devotion to Genevieve, has left Washington for the West. He has very definite plans in connection with which he expects to put to use his unusual engineering education and experience. He has some capital of his own, he told me, and he thinks in a short while he will be on his feet. As soon as he sees light ahead, he and Genevieve are to be married. They are almost the happiest people I have ever seen.
The lady with the gray eyes wishes to be remembered.
Billie—and this was something I had not counted on—was standing where she could see each one as soon as he entered, and so my entrance lost nothing of its dramatic possibilities. She enveloped me with that green-gray glance of hers as if I were the only man in the world. Helen Clay was looking right at us, and I know the scene lost nothing in the telling, nor was the telling delayed overlong. I decided, somehow, to follow my present plan for a while longer, so I still “cultivated” Billie, and we danced, and we flirted, and laughed together interminably, for she is humorous beyond words. I think everybody noticed us, for the few who might otherwise have overlooked our little play had their attentions awakened by persons like Helen Clay. And thus we basked for this one evening in the spotlight. It was not such bad fun, either. Miss Riddick was once more a strong contender for first place in the eyes of the male contingent, and Caroline and Lillian Barton certainly had to divide honors with her. Sometimes I think that in a very gay party the “vamp” type of woman makes more of a hit than she might elsewhere. At any rate, in this case, Miss Billie was surrounded at the close of each dance, and her curious gray eyes worked havoc. As on other occasions the women looked on scornfully, but, they looked nevertheless! As Tommie said to me, in a moment of quiet, every woman in the room was studying the cut and effect of that fetching gown that hung so gracefully from Miss Billie’s beautiful shoulders, and wondering what in the world there was in her walk which so fascinated the men. It is interesting to record that among those who buzzed around her, Dr. King and Will Hale were conspicuous.
I asked Caroline twice for a dance and each time she said she was engaged. As neither time did she suggest an alternative, I let it go at that, so, for the second time since I have been here, a whole evening passed without a dance with her.
When the refreshments were served, Billie and I happened to get places in a specially attractive little “cozy corner” in the Dills’ back parlor, where we carried on a very private conversation, as if we were dead to the world about us. If the rest would have been able to hear what we were saying, our little tête-à-tête would have lost much of its interest for them, for Billie was telling me, in the most serious way imaginable, the story of her life.
It’s queer how much more we like people when we really know something about them. Silence, ignorance, and aloofness seem to be almost absolutely necessary for the growth of a real dislike. To know a person, to talk with him intimately, seems a very sure way to create an understanding, and then in its time, a liking. I sometimes feel that one could find something good in even the worst person one knew, and that even the most repellent man must have some good points, if only we have wit and insight enough to discover them.
I have tried to sum up Miss Billie from these few days of more or less frequent companionship, and I find her an interesting conglomeration of contradictory qualities. First as to her virtues: She is fearless, honest with those she respects and from whom she expects honest dealing, and generous to a fault; as to her defects, if such they should be called, she is headstrong, quick and vicious of temper, too prone to follow her impulses, bad as well as good, extravagant, and oversophisticated. With all her hardness, and all her reputation as fast, I think she would be unswervingly true and loyal to one of whom she was very fond. But the quality which strikes one most of all is the sense of fairness, which shows itself even in her attitude toward Caroline. How often would one find a woman free from a trace of personal hostility toward an acknowledged rival who stood between her and the man she loved. Jealousy, with most of them, would be almost sure to show itself in malicious words or acts. But thus far I have detected nothing of the sort. Sometimes she watches Caroline with a wistful earnestness, which is quite touching, as if she would learn from observing her what may be the secret of the fascination she exerts over the doctor.
While we were talking I was tempted to draw her out. We sat where we could observe Caroline and her escort, who were having a hilarious time with Tommie, Lillian Barton, Reese, and Scott Green. Miss Barton and Caroline were giving an imitation of an argument between two well-known local characters, somewhat noted for their acrimonious attitude toward one another. Needless to say, the performance was a histrionic success, and provoked spasms of merriment in the onlookers, both by the excellence of the matter as we
ll as the manner of the doing.
“What,” said I, almost casually, “do you really think of Caroline Rhodes?” The question, the moment it was out, seemed such an idle one that I would have recalled it if I could, expecting, as I reasonably might, only a perfunctorily polite answer. But I was a little surprised when I got it—after a short pause, and a nervous laugh from the lady, who looked at me curiously with her penetrating eyes.
“Well, I can’t affirm that I love Caroline overmuch these days, but if I must tell the truth, I shall have to admit that she is the squarest little girl I know. You can trust her with your money, your reputation, and even your life if she cares for you. What more could one say?”
“What more would one need to say,” said I. “You’re a good sport, Billie. One must surely give you that!”
She showed red a bit, I thought, even under her “war paint.” “Thank you,” she said simply. “Everybody, even I, must have some good points. I have never seen any fun in a fight which was not fair.”
When Washington Was In Vogue Page 22