CHAPTER THREE
Miss Judith Devereux Randall was getting into her first evening gown.
The Green River High School football team was giving its annualSeptember concert and ball in Odd Fellows' Hall to-night. The occasionwas as important to the school as a coming-out party. The new juniorclass, just graduated from seclusion upstairs to the big assembly roomwhere the seniors were, made its first public appearance in societythere. Judith was a junior now.
Her first dance, and her first evening gown; it was a memorable scene,fit to immortalize with the first love-letter and the first proposal, ina series of pictures of great moments in a girl's life--chosen by somemasculine illustrator, touchingly confident that he knows what the greatmoments of a girl's life are. Judith seemed to be taking this moment toocalmly for one.
The dress lay ready on the bed, fluffy and light and sheer, a whitedream of a dress, with two unopened florist's boxes beside it, but therewas no picturesque disarray of excited toilet-making in her big,brightly lighted room, and no dream-promoting candlelight. And therewere no pennants or football trophies disfiguring the daintily floweredwall paper, and no pictures or programs in the mirror of the daintydressing-table; there was no other young girl's room in town where theywere prohibited, but there was no other room so charming as Judith's,all blue-flowered chintz and bird's-eye maple and white fur rugs, andwhiter covers and curtains.
Judith was the most charming and immaculate thing in the room, as shestood before the cheval-glass, bare armed and slim and straight inberuffled, beribboned white, pinning the soft, pale braids tight aroundher small, high-poised head. Quite the most charming thing, and Norah,fingering the dress on the bed disapprovingly, and giving her keen,sidelong glances, was aware of it, but did not believe in compliments,even to the creature she loved best in the world.
Her mouth was set and her brown eyes were bright with the effort ofrepressing them. Judith, seeing her face in the glass, turned suddenlyand slipped her arms round the formidable old creature's neck, andlaughed at her.
"Don't you think I'm perfectly beautiful?" she demanded. "If you reallylove me, why not tell me so?"
"Your colour's good." Judith pressed a delicately flushed cheek toNorah's, and attempted a butterfly kiss, which she evaded grimly. "Goodenough--healthy and natural."
"Oh, no. I made it. Oh, with hot water and then cold, I mean. Nana,don't begin about rouge. Don't be silly. That red stuff in the box onmother's dresser is only nail paste, truly."
"Who sent the flowers?"
"Look and see."
"Much you care, if you'll let me look."
"Do you want me to care?"
"Much you care about the flowers or the party."
Judith had caught up the alluring dress without a second glance, andslipped it expertly over her head, and was jerking capably at thefastenings.
"With the spoiled airs of you, and Willard Nash sending to Wells forflowers, when his father clerked in a drygoods store at his age----"
"Oh, carnations are cheap--or he wouldn't get them."
"These aren't cheap, then."
The smaller box was full of white violets.
"Give them to me. No, you can't see the card. You don't deserve to.You're too cross, and besides you wouldn't like it. Do my two top hooks.Now, am I perfectly beautiful?"
Under her capable hands a pretty miracle had been going on, commonenough, but always new. Ruffle above ruffle, the soft, shapeless mass ofwhite had shaken itself into its proper lines and contours, lightly,like a bird's plumage settling itself, and with it the change that comeswhen a woman with the inborn, unteachable trick of wearing clothes putson a perfect gown, had come to her slight girl's figure. It lookedsofter, rounder, and more lightly poised. Her throat looked whiter abovethe encircling folds of white. Her shy half smile was sweeter. The whiteviolets, caught to her high girdle, were sweeter, too.
Norah surrendered, her voice husky and reluctant.
"You're too good for them."
"For the G. H. S. dance? For Willard?" Judith pretended great humility:"Nana!"
"There's others you're more than too good for. Others----"
"Nana, don't."
"Come here." Norah put two heavy hands on her shoulders and regarded hergrimly. It was the kind of look that Judith used to associate withsecond sight, and dread. It was quite formidable still. But Judith metit steadily, with something mature and assured about her look that hadnothing to do with the softness and sweetness of her in her fluffydraperies, something that had no place in the heart of a child;something that Norah saw.
"Too good for them, and you know it," pronounced Norah. "You know it toowell. You know too many things. A heart of gold you've got, but yourhead will rule your heart."
"Nonsense." Norah permitted herself to be kissed, still lookingforbidding, but holding Judith tight.
"Little white lamb, may you find what's good enough for you," sheconceded, unexpectedly, "and may you know it when you find it."
"You're an old dear, and you're good enough for me."
Downstairs there was a more critical audience to face. Judith saw it inthe library door, and stood still on the stair landing, looking down.She held her head high, and coloured faintly. She looked very slenderand white against the dark woodwork of the hall. The Randall house hadbeen renovated the year before--becoming ten years older in the process,early Colonial instead of a comfortable mixture of late Colonial andmid-Victorian. The hall was particularly Colonial, and a becomingbackground for Judith, but the dark-haired lady in the door had no morefaith in compliments than Norah, and there was a worried wrinkle in herlow forehead to-night, as if her mind were on other things.
"Will I do, mother?"
"It's a good little gown, but there's something wrong with the neckline. You're really going then?"
"I thought I would."
"Be back by half-past ten. We're going to have some cards here. TheColonel likes you to pass things."
"I thought father's head ached."
"He's sleeping it off."
"I--wanted him to see how I looked."
"I can't see why you go."
"I thought I would. I'll go outside now, and wait for Willard."
Judith closed the early Colonial door softly behind her, and settleddown on the steps. She arranged her coat, not the one her mother lenther for state occasions, but a white polo coat of her own, with dueregard for her ruffles and her violets. The violets were from ColonelEverard. Norah, with her tiresome prejudice against the Everards, andmother, who thought and talked so much about them that she was almosttiresome, too, were both wrong about this party. She did want to go.
The church clock was striking nine. There was nothing deep toned orsolemn about the chime; it was rather tinny, but she liked it. Itsounded wide awake, as if things were going to happen. Nine, and theparty was under way. The concert was almost over. The concert was onlyfor chaperones and girls who were afraid of not getting their danceorders filled. The truly elect arrived just in time to dance. Some ofthem were passing the house already. Judith saw girls withlight-coloured gowns showing under dark coats, and swathing veils thatpreserved elaborate coiffures. Bits of conversation, monosyllabic andformal, to fit the clothes, drifted across the lawn to her.
She had not been allowed to help decorate the hall, but she had drivenwith Willard to Nashes' Corners for goldenrod, and when they carried itin, big, glowing bundles of it, she had seen fascinating things:Japanese lanterns, cheesecloth in yellow and white, the school colours,still in the piece, and full of unguessable possibilities, and a roughboard table, the foundation of the elaborately decorated counter whereRena and other girls would serve the fruit punch. All the time shedressed she had been listening for the music of Dugan's orchestra, andcaught only tantalizing strains of tunes that she could not identify.There was a sameness about the repertoire. Most of the tunes soundedunduly sentimental and resigned. But now they were playing their starnumber, a dramatic piece of program music called "A Day on theBatt
lefield."
The day began with bird notes and bugle calls, but was soon enlivened bycavalry charges and cannonades. The drum, and an occasional blankcartridge, very telling in effect, were producing them now. Judithlistened eagerly.
She needed friends of her own age for the next two years, but she mustnot identify herself with them too closely, because she would have widersocial opportunities by and by; that was what her mother said, and shedid not contest it; by and by, but this party was to-night.
Willard was coming for her now, half an hour ahead of time, as usual. Hecrossed the lawn, and sat heavily down on the steps.
"Hello. Don't talk," said Judith.
Willard was silent only long enough to turn this remark over in hismind, and decide that she could not mean it, but that was five minutes,for all his mental processes were slow. Down in the hall the last of theheroes was dying, and Dugan's orchestra rendered Taps sepulchrally.Judith drew a long breath of shivering content.
"Cold?" inquired Willard.
"No."
"You're looking great to-night."
"In the dark? In an old polo coat?"
"You always look great."
Judith was aware of an ominous stir beside her, and changed herposition.
"Oh, Judy."
"When you know I won't let you hold my hand, what makes you try?"
"If I didn't try, how would I know?" said Willard neatly.
"Oh, if you don't know without trying," Judith sighed. The cannonade inthe hall was over, and the night was empty without it.
"They took in thirteen dollars and fifty-two cents selling tickets forto-night." Willard, checked upon sentimental subjects, proceeded tofacts. He had so many at command that he could not be checked.
"Who did?"
"The team. They divide it. Only this year they've got to let thesub-team in on it, the faculty made them, and they're sore. And there'sa sub on the reception committee."
"I don't care."
"You ought to. A sub, and a roughneck. The sub-team is a bunch ofroughnecks, but he's the worst. On the reception committee! But they'lltake it out of him."
"Who? The reception committee?"
"No, the girls. They won't dance with him. He won't get a decent name onhis card. Roughneck, keeping Ed off the team. He's an Irish boy."
"An Irish boy?" Something, vague as an unforgotten dream that comes backat night, though you are too busy to recall it in waking hours, urgedJudith to protest. "So is the senior president Irish."
"No, the vice-president." There was a wide distinction between the twooffices. "Besides"--this was a wider distinction--"Murph lives at theFalls."
Living at the Falls, the little settlement at the head of the river, andlunching at noon, in the empty schoolhouse, out of tin boxes, with aforlorn assembly of half a dozen or so, was a handicap that few couldlive down.
"Murph?"
"The team calls him Murphy. I don't know why. They're crazy about him.He lives a half mile north of the Falls. Walking five miles a day tolearn Latin! He's a fool and a roughneck, but he can play ball.Yesterday on Brown's field----"
Willard started happily upon technicalities of football formations.Judith stopped listening. He could talk on unaided, pausing only for anoccasional yes or no.
Brown's field! It was a tree-fringed stretch of level grass set high atthe edge of the woods, on the other side of the river, with glimpses ofthe river showing through the trees far below. Here, on long autumnafternoons, sparkling and cool, but golden at the heart, endinggloriously in red, sudden sunsets, football practice went on every day;shifting here and there, mysteriously, over the field, the arbitraryevolutions that were football, the shuffling, and shouting, and pantingsilence; on rugs and sweaters under the trees, an audience of girls,shivering delightfully, or holding some hero's sweater, too proud to becold.
Judith had seen all this through Willard's eyes, or from a passingcarriage, but now she would go herself, go perhaps every day. Her motherwould let her. She would not understand, but she would let her, just asshe had to-night. Judith could be part of the close-knit life of theschool in the last two years there--the years that counted. The partywas a test and her mother had met it favourably. That was why she wasglad to go, as nearly as she understood. She did not know quite what shewanted of the party, only how very much she wanted to go.
Willard was asking a question insistently: "Didn't he do pretty work?"
"Who?"
"Why, the fellow I'm telling you about--the roughneck."
"Roughneck," said Judith dreamily. The word had a fine, strong sound.Willard was holding her hand again, and she felt too comfortable andcontent to stop him.
The orchestra down the street was playing the number that usually endedits programs, a medley of plantation melodies. They were never such astrain on the resources of a hard-working but only five-piece orchestraas the ambitious, martial selections, and here, heard across the dark,they were beautiful: plaintive and thrillingly sweet. "Old KentuckyHome," was the sweetest of all, lonely and sad as youth, and insistentas youth, claiming its own against an alien world.
"Oh, Willard!" breathed Judith. Then, in quite another tone, "Oh,Willard!"
Encouraged by her silence, he was reaching for her other hand, andslipping an arm round her waist.
"You feel so soft," objected Judith frankly, getting up. "I do hope I'llnever fall in love with a fat man. Come on, let's go!"
She waited for him politely on the sidewalk, and permitted her arm tobe duly grasped. Willard, sulky and silent, but preserving appearances,piloted her dutifully down the street. Willard's silences were rare, andJudith usually made the most of them, but she did not permit this one tolast. She did not want any one, even Willard, to be unhappy to-night.
"Willard."
"What?"
"Don't take such long steps, or I can't keep up with you. You're sotall."
"Do you want to be late?"
"Oh, no! Are we?"
"No."
"But there's only one couple behind us, and the music's stopped."
"It takes half an hour to get the chairs moved out."
"Willard."
"Well?"
"Is the first dance a grand march and circle?"
"No, that's gone out. They have contras instead, but the first is awaltz."
"Willard, mother said I mustn't dance contras, but I shall--with you."
"Well!"
"Don't you want me to?"
"Yes."
"Willard, are you cross with me?"
"No." They were in front of the Odd Fellows' Building now. The door wasopen. The pair behind them crowded past and clattered hurriedly up thebare, polished stairs. The orchestra could be heard tuning industriouslyabove. They were almost late, but Willard drew her into a corner of theentrance hall, and pressed her hand ardently.
"Judy, I couldn't be cross with you."
"Don't be too sure!" Judith laughed, and ran upstairs ahead of him.
"There's the ladies' dressing-room. I'll get the dance orders and meetyou outside."
There was a whispering, giggling crowd in the dressing-room, mostlyseniors, girls she did not know, but they seemed to know her, and shewas conscious of curious looks at her hair and dress. It was thesimplest dress in the room, and her mother would not have approved ofthe other dresses, but Judith did. There was something festive about thebright colours, too bright most of them: sharp pinks, and cold, hardblues. There was a yellow dress on a brunette, who was cheapened by thecrude colour, and a scarlet dress too bright for any one to wearsuccessfully on a big, pretty blond girl, who almost could. Judithsmelled three distinct kinds of cheap talcum powder, and preferred themall to her own unscented French variety. She had a moment of suddenloneliness. Was she so glad to be here, after all?
It was only a moment. The tuning of instruments outside broke off, andthe first bars of a waltz droned invitingly out: "If you really loveme," the song that had been in her ears all the evening, a flimsy balladof the year, haunting
ly sweet, as only such short-lived songs can be.Moving to the tune of it, Judith crowded with the other girls out of thedressing-room.
The hall was transformed. It was not the room she had dreamed of, agreat room, dimly lit, peopled with low-talking dancers, circlingthrough the dimness. The place looked smaller decorated, and thedecorations themselves seemed to have shrunk since she saw them. Thelanterns had been hung only where nails were already driven, and underthe supervision of the janitor, who would not permit them to be lighted.The cheesecloth was conspicuous nowhere except around the little stage,which it draped in tight, mathematically measured festoons. Beneath,under the misleading legend, "G. H. S.," painted in yellow on asuspended football, Dugan's orchestra performed its duties faithfully,with handkerchiefs guarding wilted collars.
The goldenrod, tortured and wired into a screen to hide the footlights,was drooping away already and showing the supporting wires. The bencheswere stacked against the wall, all but an ill-omened row designed forwall-flowers, and the floor was cleared and waxed. But little patches ofwax that were not rubbed in lurked for unwary feet, and there wereclouds of dust in the air. In one corner of the hall most of theprominent guests of the evening were attempting to obtain dance ordersat once, or to push their way back with them to the young ladies theywere escorting.
These ladies, and other ladies without escorts, were crowding each otheragainst the stacked benches and maneuvering for positions where theirdance orders would fill promptly. The atmosphere was one of strife andstress. But Judith found no fault with it. She was not aware of it.
In a corner near the stage, by the closed door of the refreshment-room,a boy was standing alone. He was tearing up his dance order. It wasempty, and he was making no further attempts to fill it. He tore itquite unostentatiously so that no young lady disposed to be amused byhis defeat could see anything worth staring at in his performance, andhe was forgotten in his corner. But Judith stared.
She had remembered him tall, but he was only a little taller thanherself. His black suit was shiny, and a size too small for him, but itwas carefully brushed, and he wore it with an air. His hair was darkerthan she remembered, a pale, soft brown. It was too long, and it curledat the temples. He stood squarely, facing the room, as if he did notcare what anybody did to him, but there was a look about his mouth as ifhe cared. He raised his eyes. They were darker than she remembered,darker and stranger than any eyes in the world. They looked hurt, butthere was a laugh in them, too, and across the hall they were lookingstraight at Judith.
"Here you are. I've got myself down for all your contras. Just in time."
Willard, mopping his brow, slipping on a patch of wax, and savinghimself with a skating motion, brought up triumphantly beside her,waving two dance orders. Judith pushed them away, and saidsomething--she hardly knew what.
"What, Judy? What's that? You're engaged for this? You can't dance itwith me?"
"No. No, I can't."
Judith slipped past him, and started across the floor. The music waslouder now, as if you were really meant to dance, and dance with theperson you wanted to most. The floor was filling now with dancersstepping forward awkwardly, but turning into different creatures whenthey danced, caught by the light, sure swing of the music, whirling andgliding. The words sang themselves to Judith, the silly, beautifulwords:
Please don't keep me waiting. Won't you let me know That you really love me? Tell--me--so.
A girl in red was dancing in a quick, darting sort of way, in and out,among the others, and her dress was beautiful, too, like a flower. Theboy in the corner was watching it. He did not see Judith come.
"I thought you couldn't be real. When I never saw you again I thought Ihad dreamed you."
Judith said it softly and breathlessly, and he did not hear. She put herhand on his arm, and he turned and looked at her.
"Don't you remember me?" Judith was too happy to be hurt even by this.The light, sweet music called to her. "Don't you remember? Never mind!Come and dance with me."
The Wishing Moon Page 3