CHAPTER XV
"THE GATES AJAR"
COMMENCEMENT is over, the good-byes are said and most of the girls havedeparted for home. Babe and I leave this morning at ten 'clock when Mrs.Waldon's machine is to come for us and take us to her apartment for aweek's visit. Babe is included in the invitation because she can't gohome till I do. Her family won't let her travel alone, although she'snineteen, a year and a month older than I.
Father wasn't willing for Barby to leave this country, so she went intothe Army and Navy League work with Mrs. Waldon, the first month she washere. But now she's at the head of one of the departments in the RedCross and will be in Washington all summer, and longer if necessary.I've finished my Book of Second Chronicles and shall leave it for her toread whenever she can find an opportunity. But I'm keeping my Memoirsout of my trunk till the last moment, because there's something I wantto write in it about Babe.
It was agreed that nobody was to wear flowers at Commencement, and weasked our families not to send any, so it was generally understood thatthere was to be no display of any kind. But yesterday an enormousflorist box arrived for Babe Nolan. If she hadn't been so mysteriousabout it we wouldn't have thought anything of it. Any one of us wouldhave opened it right then and there in the hall, and passed it around tobe sniffed and admired. But she got as red as fire and, grabbing thebox, hurried into her room with it and shut the door. That's the lastanybody saw of it. A little later when I had occasion to go to her roomthere wasn't a sign of a flower to be seen, not even the box or a pieceof string. The girls all thought it was queer they should disappear soabsolutely, and wondered why she didn't put them in the dining-room orthe chapel if she didn't want them in her own room, and they teased hera good deal about her mysterious suitor.
But last night, after Lillian and Jessica had started to the train, shecalled me to her room and threw open the wardrobe door with a tragicgesture, and asked me what on earth she was to do with _that_. Her trunkwouldn't hold another thing, and she supposed she'd have to go all theway to the Cape with it in her two hands, and it smelled so loud oftuberoses and such things she was afraid people would think she wastaking it to a funeral.
There on the wardrobe flood stood a floral design fully three feet high,that looked exactly as if intended for a funeral, for it was one ofthose pieces called "Gates Ajar." I didn't dare laugh because Babe stoodthere looking so worried and so deeply in earnest that I knew she'd beoffended if I did. I suggested simply leaving it behind, or taking outthe flowers and chucking the wire frame into the ash can. Then I saw myadvice was unacceptable. Evidently she hadn't told me all, and didn'tintend to for fear I'd laugh at the person who sent such a design.
But when I said in a real sympathetic and understanding way that it was_so_ appropriate for a Commencement offering because everybody thinks ofCommencement Day as being a gate ajar, through which a school girl stepsinto the wider life beyond, she gave me a sharp glance and then took meinto her confidence. She had on one of those new sport skirts with twoenormous side pockets, the most stylish thing I ever saw Babe wear. Shedrew a card out of one of the pockets. On it was engraved, "LieutenantWatson Tucker."
I nearly dropped with surprise, for two reasons. First, I didn't thinkhe was the sort of a man to send such a queer thing. It would have beenmore like him to have sent a bunch of sweet peas. And second, I didn'tknow he had kept up with Babe enough to know the date of her graduation.
She said yes, they correspond occasionally, and in his last letter hesaid he was expecting to have a two-weeks' shore leave soon. Shewouldn't be surprised any day to hear that the ship was in. Although shesaid it airily, I know Babe. She couldn't fool me. She over-acted herindifference, and when she said she supposed she might as well box upthe flowers and take them along when the machine came, I knew positivelythat she cared far more for Watty Tucker than she'd have me know.
* * * * *
Babe says it's like visiting in the Hall of Fame to be here at Mrs.Waldon's. Every way we turn are autographed pictures on the walls ofcelebrities who have helped to make history. Every time the door bellrings it is a call from somebody who is helping to make it now. Andthey're not Admirals and Generals and diplomats and their wives to Mrs.Waldon. They're just Joe and Ned and Nancy who took "pot luck" with herin the old army days on the frontier before they got to be famous orelse somebody who knew her intimately in the Philippines.
It is so thrilling to meet them and so interesting to hear intimate bitsof their family history afterward. People she hasn't heard of in yearsare constantly turning up, brought to Washington by the war. Only thismorning, a Major whom she thought was out among the "head-hunters"dropped in and stayed to lunch.
We have spent the greater part of every day sight-seeing. Not the usualplaces like Mount Vernon and the Smithsonian, etc. We've been doing themfor the last two years in school excursions with the teachers. Butplaces that have taken on unusual interest because of these stirring wartimes. We went over to Fort Meyer in time for "Retreat" one afternoon,and again to see the trench-digging and the dummies being put up forbayonet practice. And we spent hours at the Wadsworth House, a palace ofa home which has been turned over to relief work. There is where Barbyspends most of her time. I was so thrilled when I found her there at adesk, directing things in her department, and looking so lovely in heruniform, white with a band around her sleeve, and a blue veil floatingover her shoulders, bound on the forehead by a white band and a redcross.
Two retired Admirals in their shirt sleeves were filling huge packingboxes in one of the side rooms. They give their services, working likeTrojans all day long. Upstairs in the great dismantled ballroom, and theapartments adjoining, were long tables surrounded by the women workingon surgical dressings and hospital garments and comfort kits.Downstairs, near the entrance, was the desk of the Motor Service Corps.A pretty society girl in a stunning uniform came in while we stoodthere, saluted her superior officer, received her orders and started outto drive her machine on some Red Cross errand, with all the neatness anddispatch of a regular enlisted soldier. That's what I'd love to do, if Ionly had a machine of my own. She looked too adorable for words in thatuniform.
One afternoon we went out to see the President receive the SanitaryCorps of a thousand men trained to carry litters. A temporary platformgay with bunting and flags was erected on the edge of the green wherethe President and his guests of honor sat. Barby was one of them in herfloating blue veil, on account of the position she holds now. We parkedthe machine and sat down tailor-fashion on the grass in the front row ofthe crowd, which pressed against the rope that barred our entrance tothe mall.
After awhile there was a sound of music down the street, and the marineband came marching across the great field towards us, at the head ofthe litter-bearers. It was a sunny afternoon, and the band played a gaymarching tune as they advanced. I was feeling so uplifted over Barby'sbeing on the grandstand among the honor guests, looking her prettiest,that I didn't realize the significance of the scene at first. Then thethought stabbed me like a knife, that on every one of those litterssomebody's best beloved might some day be stretched, desperately woundedmaybe, dead or dying. I couldn't help thinking "suppose I should seeFather brought in that way, or Richard." When I glanced across at Babethe tears were running down her cheeks, so it evidently affected her thesame way.
I'd have been willing to wager she was seeing Watson on one of thosestretchers. When we got back to our room, which is a large one with twinbeds in it, she dived under hers and pulled out the big florist's boxand carried it to the bathroom to sprinkle the flowers. It's wonderfulhow fresh the thing has kept. She's had it nearly a week. She treats itlike a mother would an idiot child, keeps it out of sight of the public,but hangs over it when alone with a tenderness that is positivelytouching.
Babe's the funniest thing! Every time the hall door opens she is out andup the little stairway to the roof, like a cat. It is a nice place togo, for there is a magnificent view of the city from th
ere, and at nightit's entrancing, with the Monument illuminated, and the great domeshowing up when the searchlights play. But I don't believe it's the viewBabe is after. She wants to be alone. Twice when I went up after her totell her it was time to start somewhere, I found her sitting staring ata rubber plant in front of her, as if she didn't see even that. And onceshe was leaning against the iron railing which surrounds the roof,oblivious to the fact that that section of it was rusty. It simplyruined her best evening dress, a delicate blue veiling made over whitesilk. When we got downstairs to the light there were great streaks ofiron rust across the whole front, where the bars had pressed against it.
Saturday night Mrs. Waldon had a long-distance call from her cousin, MacGordon. His ship was in from the long cruise, and the boys werescattering to their homes for a short visit before being sent to jointhe fleet abroad. He wanted to know if he could stop by next day to seeher, on his way home. She told him to come and welcome, and bring any ofthe other boys who cared to come. That Babe and I were with her.
Well, Sunday afternoon when Mac walked in there was a whole string ofboys behind him; Bob Mayfield and Billy Burrell and Watty Tucker. Onlyfour in all by actual count, but added to the six already in the room,the little apartment seemed brim full and running over. Two of her oldarmy cronies were there besides Barby.
I wondered what Mrs. Waldon was going to do about feeding them all,because the cook is always away on Sunday night. But when the time cameshe simply announced they'd serve supper in the time-honored Crabtownfashion. At that the men all got up and crowded out into the littlekitchenette to see what she had on her "emergency shelf" and to announcewhat part each one would be responsible for on the menu.
When we were ready to sit down to the table we noticed that Babe andWatson were missing, and when I tried to recall when I had seen themlast, I was sure they had slipped away during the general exodus to thekitchen. And I am sure that when I ran up the steps to the roof gardenwith the announcement, "The rarebit is ready," neither one of them was abit grateful to me.
I was sorry Duffield Locke wasn't with the boys. His family met him inNew York and they went on to New York together. Bob Mayfield tried totease me about him. He said Duff had my picture in the back of hiswatch. When I hotly denied it, and vowed I had never given him one,except a little snapshot taken with Lillian of just our heads, he said,"Well, Duff had a pair of scissors."
After we went to our room that night, late as it was, Babe re-packed hertrunk and deliberately squeezed all her hats into one compartment,thereby ruining two of them for life, to make room in the tray for thatflorist box. The flowers were badly shriveled up by that time. Seeingfrom my face that an explanation was necessary, she said she couldn'tcarry it back on the train as she had intended, because Watson was goingup to Provincetown the same time we were, to visit his cousins, theNelsons, and she didn't want him to see it.
"But the Nelsons aren't in Provincetown this summer," I answered. "Andhe knows it, because I told him what Laura said in her last letter.Besides, why shouldn't he see his own floral offering? He'd becomplimented to think you cared enough for it to lug it all the wayhome."
She seemed a bit confused at my answer, but I couldn't tell at whichpart of it. Then she said that he didn't pick it out. He thinks he sentroses, and he'd have a fit if he knew it was that awful Gates Ajar. Hesent his card to some old relative in Georgetown with a check and askedhim to order something appropriate for the occasion.
I asked Babe then, why, if the design wasn't Watty's choice, and shethought it was so dreadful, _why_ did she cling to it so fondly, andtake it back to the Cape at the risk of all her hats and the sure ruinof two of them. But she paid no attention to my remark, just went onwith her packing. I know she's relieved to find out it wasn't Watty'staste. If they are not actually engaged, they have almost reached thegate, and it _is_ ajar.