VII
It was a different Tootles who, ten days later, sat on a bank of dryferns that overlooked a superb stretch of water and watched the sun godown. The little half-plucked bird of the Forty-sixth Street garretwith the pale thin face and the large tired eyes had almost become thefairy of Joan's hill once more, the sun-tanned little brother of PeterPan again. A whole week of the air of Devon and the smell of its pines,of the good wholesome food provided by the family with whom she andIrene were lodging, of long rambles through the woods, of bathing andsleeping, and the joy of finding herself among trees had performed that"yank" of which her fellow chorus lady had spoken.
Tootles was on her feet again. Her old zest to live had been given backto her by the wonder and the beauty of sky and water and trees. A childof nature, hitherto forced to struggle for her bread in cities, she wasrevived and renewed and refreshed by the sweet breath and the warmwelcome of that simple corner of God's earth to which Irene had socunningly brought her. Her starved, city-ridden spirit had blossomedand become healthy out there in the country like a root of CreepingJenny taken from a pot on the window-sill of a slum house and put backinto good brown earth.
The rough and ready family with whom they were lodging kept a duckfarm, and it was to this white army of restless, greedy things thatTootles owed her first laugh. Tired and smut-bespattered after atedious railway journey she had eagerly and with childish joy gone atonce to see them fed, the old and knowing, the young and optimistic,and all the yellow babies with uncertain feet and tiny noises. Afterthat, a setting sun which set fire to the sky and water and trees,melting and mingling them together, and Tootles turned the corner. Themotherless waif slept that night on Nature's maternal breast and wascomforted.
The warm-hearted Irene was proud of herself. Devon--Heaven--it wasindeed an inspiration. The only fly in her amber came from the factthat Martin was away. But when she discovered that he and his friendhad merely gone for a short trip on the yawl she waited with greatcontent for their return, setting the seeds in Tootles' mind, withinfinite diplomacy and feminine cunning, of a determination to use allher wiles to win even a little bit of love from Martin as soon as shesaw him again.
Playing the part of one who had unexpectedly benefited from the will ofan almost-forgotten relative she never, of course, said a word of whyshe had chosen Devon for this gorgeous holiday. Temporarily wealthy itwas not necessary to look cannily at every nickel. Before leaving NewYork she had bought herself and Tootles some very necessary clothes andsaw to it that they lived on as much of the fat of the land as could beobtained in the honest and humble house in which she had found a largetwo-bedded room. Her cigarettes were Egyptian now and on the train shehad bought half a dozen new novels at which she looked with pride.Hitherto she had been obliged to read only those much-handledblase-looking books which went the round of the chorus. Conceive whatthat meant! Also she had brought with her a bottle of the scent thatwas only, so far as she knew, within reach of leading ladies. Like thecigarettes and the books, this was really for Tootles to use, but sheborrowed a little from time to time.
As for Irene Stanton, then, she was having, and said so, the time ofher young life. She richly deserved it, and if her kindness andthoughtfulness, patience and sympathy had not been entered in the bigvolume of the Recording Angel that everlasting young woman must haveneglected her pleasant job for several weeks.
And, as for Tootles, it is true that her bobbed hair still owed itsgolden brilliance to a bottle, but the white stuff on her face had beenreplaced by sunburn, and her lips were red all by themselves.
She was watching the last of the great red globe when her friend joinedher. There had been a race of sloops that afternoon, and there wasunusual animation on the quay and at the little club house. A smallpower boat, on which were the starter and judges and others, had justput in with a good deal of splutter and fuss. On the stoop of the cluba small band was playing, and a bevy of young people were dancing.Following in the wake of the last sloop a yawl with a dingey in tow wascoming towards the quay.
Seeing that Tootles was in one of her ecstatic moods and was deaf toremarks, Irene saved her words to cool her porridge and watched theincoming yawl. She did so at first without much interest. It was merelya sailboat to her city eyes, and her good lines and good managementmeant nothing. But as she came nearer something familiar in the cut ofthe man at her helm caught her attention. Surely those broad shouldersand that deep chest and small head could belong only to Martin Gray?They did, they did. It was that boy at last, that boy about whomTootles had gone dippy, that boy whose generosity had made theirholiday possible, that boy the first sight of whom would put the lasttouch to Tootles' recovery--that boy who, if her friend set her mindand feminine charm to work, might, it seemed to the practical Irene,make her future safe. Strap-hangers had very few such chances.
With a tremendous effort she sat wordless and waited, knowing thatMartin must come that way to his cottage. With all her sense of thedramatic stirred she watched the business of coming to anchor with someimpatience and when finally the dingey was hauled in and the two mengot aboard, loosed off and rowed to shore, excitement sent the bloodtingling through her veins. She heard them laugh and look up towardsthe club, now almost deserted; cars were being driven inland in quicksuccession. She watched them, hatless and sun-tanned, come nearer andnearer. She got up as if to go, hesitated, caught Martin's eye, gave anexclamation of well-acted amazement and waved her hand. "Well," shecried out, "for Heaven's sake! I never thought you meant this littleold Devon!"
Howard had long ago caught sight of the two girls and wondered if theywere pretty, hoping they would remain until he could decide the pointfor himself. They were, both of them, and Martin knew them. Goodenough. He stood by while Martin greeted the one who spoke and then sawthe other wake suddenly at the sound of his friend's voice, stumble toher feet and go forward with a little cry.
"Why, Tootles," said Martin warmly. "I never thought of seeing youhere. How well you look."
It was like dreaming true. Tootles could only smile and cling to hishand.
"By Jove, the other girl," thought Howard, with what, after all, wasonly an easy touch of intuition. The girl's face told her story. "Whatwill this mean?" Then there were introductions, questions and answers,laughter, jokes, a quick exchange of glances between Martin and Irene,in which he received and acknowledged her warning, and a little silence.
"Come up to the cottage and have dinner with us," said Martin, breakingit rather nervously. "Can you?"
Tootles nodded. Devon--Heaven. How perfectly the words rhymed.
"You couldn't keep us away with a stick," said Irene. This was the waythings should go. Also, the jovial, fat person with the roving eyesmight brighten things considerably for her.
"Great work!" Said Howard.
And then, taking Tootle's arm and breaking into enthusiastic details ofthe sailing trip, Martin led the way up to the cottage among the firs.It was good to have been able to put little Tootles into spirits again.
Howard followed with Irene. "Gee whiz!" he said to himself, "somedimples!"
A few miles away as the crow flies Gilbert Palgrave In his bedroom inSt. James's Palace cursed himself and life because Joan was still asdifficult to win as sunshine was to bottle.
And up in the sky that hung above them all the angels were lighting thestars.
Who Cares? A Story of Adolescence Page 26