CHAPTER V
WHEN YOUTH MEETS YOUTH
Three quarters of an hour later Ted was seated on a log, near a smallrustic bridge, beneath which flowed a limpid, gurgling stream. On a logbeside him sat a girl of perhaps eighteen years, exceedingly handsomewith the flaming kind of beauty like a poppy's, striking to the eye,shallow-petaled. She was vividly effective against the background of deepgreen spruces and white birch in her bright pink dress and large droopingblack hat. Her coloring was brilliant, her lips full, scarlet, ripelysensuous. Beneath her straight black brows her sparkling, black eyesgleamed with restless eagerness. An ugly, jagged, still fresh woundshowed beneath a carefully curled fringe of hair on her forehead.
"I don't like meeting you this way," Ted was saying. "Are you sure yourgrandfather would have cut up rough if I had come to the house and calledproperly?"
"You betcher," said his companion promptly. "You don't know grandpa. He'sdeath on young men. He won't let one come within a mile of me if he canhelp it. He'd throw a fit if he knew I was here with you now. We shouldworry. What he don't know won't hurt him," she concluded with a toss ofher head. Then, as Ted looked dubious, she added, "You just leave grandpato me. If you had had your way you would have spilled the beans bytelephoning me this morning at the wrong time. See how much better Ifixed it. I told him a piece of wood flew up and hit me when I waschopping kindling before breakfast and that my head ached so I didn'tfeel like going to church. Then the minute he was out of the yard I ranto the 'phone and got you at the hotel. It was perfectly simple thatway--slick as grease. Easiest thing in the world to make a date. Wecouldn't have gotten away with it otherwise."
Ted still looked dubious. The phrase "gotten away with it" jarred. At themoment he was not particularly proud of their mutual success in "gettingaway with it." The girl wasn't his kind. He realized that, now he saw herfor the first time in daylight.
She had looked all right to him on the train night before last. Indeed hehad been distinctly fascinated by her flashing, gypsy beauty, readylaughter and quick, keen, half "fresh" repartee when he had started acasual conversation with her when they chanced to be seat mates fromHolyoke on.
Casual conversations were apt to turn into casual flirtations with TedHoliday. Afterward he wasn't sure whether she had dared him or he haddared her to plan the midnight joy ride which had so narrowly missedending in a tragedy. Anyway it had seemed a jolly lark at the time--atest of the mettle and mother wit of both of them to "get away with it."
And she had looked good to him last night when he met her at theappointed trysting place after "As You Like It." She had come out of theshadows of the trees behind which she had been lurking, wearing a scarlettam-o'-shanter and a long dark cloak, her eyes shining like Januarystars. He had liked her nerve in coming out like that to meet him aloneat midnight. He had liked the way she "sassed" him back and put him inhis place, when he had tried impudently enough to kiss her. He had likedthe way she laughed when he asked her if she was afraid to speed, on thehome stretch. It was her laugh that had spurred him on, intoxicated him,made him send the car leaping faster and still faster, obeying hisreckless will.
Then the crash had come. It was indeed a miracle that they had not bothbeen killed. No thanks to the rash young driver that they had not been.It would be many a day before Ted Holiday would forget that nightmare ofdread and remorse which took possession of him as he pulled himself tohis feet and went over to where the girl's motionless form lay on thegrass, her face dead white, the blood flowing from her forehead.
Never had he been so thankful for anything in his life as he was when hesaw her bright eyes snap open, and heard her unsteady little giggle asshe murmured, "My, but I thought I was dead, didn't you?"
Game to her fingertips she had been. Ted acknowledged that, even now thatthe glamour had worn off. Never once had she whimpered over her injuries,never hurled a single word of blame at him for the misadventure that hadcome within a hair's breadth of being the last for them both.
"It wasn't a bit more your fault than mine," she had waived aside hisapologies. "And it was great while it lasted. I wouldn't have missed itfor anything, though I'm glad I'm not dead before I've had a chance toreally live. All I ask is that you won't tell a soul I was out with you.Grandpa would think I was headed straight for purgatory if he knew."
"I won't," Ted had promised glibly enough, and had kept his promise evenat the cost of lying to his uncle, a memory which hurt like thetoothache even now.
But looking at the girl now in her tawdry, inappropriate garb hesuffered a revulsion of feeling. What he had admired in her as good sportquality seemed cheap now, his own conduct even cheaper. His reactionagainst himself was fully as poignant as his reaction against her. He wassuddenly ashamed of his joy ride, ashamed that he had ever wished ortried to kiss her, ashamed that he had fallen in with her suggestion fora clandestine meeting this afternoon.
Possibly Madeline sensed that he was cold to her charms at the moment.She flashed a shrewd glance at him.
"You don't like me as well to-day as you did last night," she challenged.
Caught, Ted tried half-heartedly to make denial, but the effort wasscarcely a success. He had yet to learn the art of lying gracefullyto a lady.
"You don't," she repeated. "You needn't try to pretend you do. You can'tfool me. You're getting cold feet already. You're remembering I'mjust--just a pick-up."
Ted winced again at that. He did not like the word "pick-up" either,though to his shame he hadn't been above the thing itself.
"Don't talk like that, Madeline. You know I like you. You were immenselast night. Any other girl I know, except my sister Tony, would have hadhysterics and fainting fits and lord knows what else with half the excuseyou had. And you never made a bit of fuss about your head, though it musthave hurt like the deuce. I say, you don't think it is going to leave ascar, do you?"
He leaned forward with genuine concern to examine the red wound.
"I think it is more than likely. Lot you'll care, Ted Holiday. You'llnever come back to see whether it leaves a scar or not. See that bee overthere nosing around that elderberry. Think he'll come back next week?Not much. I know your kind," scornfully.
That bit into the lad's complacency.
"Of course, I care and of course, I'll come back," he protested, though amoment before he had had not the slightest wish or purpose to see heragain, rather to the contrary.
"To see whether there is a scar?"
"To see you," he played up gallantly.
Her hard young face softened.
"Will you, honest, Ted Holiday? Will you come back?"
She put out her hand and touched his. Her eyes were suddenly wistful,gentle, beseeching.
"Sure I'll come back. Why wouldn't I?" The touch of her hand, the newsoftness, almost pathos of her mood touched him, appealed to the chivalryalways latent in a Holiday.
He heard her breath come quickly, saw her full bosom heave, felt the warmpressure of her hand. He wanted to put his arm around her but he did notfollow the impulse. The code of Holiday "noblesse oblige" was operating.
"I wish I could believe that," Madeline sighed, looking down into thewater which whirled and eddied in white foam and splash over the rocks."I'd like to think you really wanted to come--really cared about seeingme again. I know I'm not your kind."
He started involuntarily at her voicing unexpectedly his ownrecent thought.
"Oh, you needn't be surprised," she threw at him half angrily. "Don't yousuppose I know that better than you do. Don't you suppose I know what thegirls you are used to look like? Well, I do. I've watched 'em, on thestreet, on the campus, in church, everywhere. I've even seen your sisterand watched her, too. Somebody pointed her out to me once when she hadmade a hit in a play and I've seen her at Glee Club concerts and atvespers in the choir. She is lovely--lovely the way I'd like to be. Itisn't that she's any prettier. She isn't. It's just that she'sdifferent--acts different--looks different--dresses different from me. Ican't make mys
elf like her and the rest, no matter how I try. And I dotry. You don't know how hard I try. I got this dress because I saw yoursister Tony wearing a pink dress once. I thought maybe it would make melook more like her. But it doesn't. It makes me look more _not_ like herthan ever, doesn't it?" she appealed rather disconcertingly. "It'shorrid. I hate it."
"I don't know much about girls' dresses," said Ted. "But, now you speakof it, maybe it would be prettier if it were a little--" he paused for aword--"quieter," he decided on. "Do you ever wear white? Tony wears it alot and I think she looks nice in it."
"I've got a white dress. I thought about putting it on to-day. Butsomehow it didn't look quite nice enough. I thought--well, I thought Ilooked handsomer in the pink. I wanted to look pretty--for you." The lastwas very low--scarcely audible.
"You look good to me all right," said the boy heartily and he meant it.He thought she looked prettier at the moment than she had looked at anytime since he had made her acquaintance.
Perhaps he was right. She had laid aside for once her mask of hardboldness and was just a simple, humble, rather pathetic little girl,voicing secret aspirations toward a fineness life had denied her.
"I say, Madeline," Ted went on. "You don't--meet other chaps the way youmet me to-day, do you?" Set the blind to lead the blind! If there wasanything absurd in scapegrace Ted's turning mentor he was unconscious ofthe absurdity, was exceedingly in earnest.
"What's that to you?" She snapped the mask back into place.
"Nothing--that is--I wouldn't--that's all."
She laughed shrilly.
"You're a pretty one to talk," she scoffed.
Ted flushed.
"I know I am. See here, Madeline. You're dead right. I ought not tohave taken you out last night. I ought not to have let you meet mehere to-day."
"I made you--I made you do both those things."
Ted shook his head at that.
"A man's to blame always," he asserted.
"No, he isn't," denied Madeline. "A girl's to blame always."
They stared at each other a moment while the brook tinkled through thesilence. Then they both laughed at the solemnity of their contradictions.
"But there isn't a bit of harm done," went on Madeline. "You see, I knewthat first night on the train that you were a gentleman."
"Some gentlemen are rotters," said Ted Holiday, with a wisdom beyond histwenty years.
"But you are not."
"No, I'm not; but some other chap might be. That is why I wish you wouldpromise not to go in for this sort of thing."
"With anybody but you," she stipulated.
"Not with anybody at all," corrected Ted soberly, remembering his ownrecent restrained impulse to put his arm around her.
"Well, I don't want to--at least not with anybody but you. I never did itbefore with anybody. Honest, Ted, I never did."
"That's good. I felt sure that you hadn't."
"Why?"
He grinned sheepishly and stooped to break off a dry twig from anearby bush.
"By the way you didn't let me kiss you," he admitted. "A fellow likesthat in a girl. Did you know it?" He tossed away the twig and looked backat the girl as he asked the question.
"I thought they liked--the other thing."
"They do and they don't," said Ted, his paradox again betraying ascarcely to be expected wisdom. "But that is neither here nor there. WhatI started out to say was that I'm glad you don't make a practice of thispick-up business. It--it's no good," he summed up.
"I know." Madeline nodded understanding of the import of his warning. Shewas far too handsome and too prematurely developed physically to bedevoid of experience of the ways of the opposite sex. Like Ophelia sheknew there were tricks in the world and she liked frank Ted Holiday thebetter for reminding her of them. "I won't do it," she promised. "Thatis, unless you don't ever come back yourself. I don't know what I'll dothen--something awful, maybe."
"I'll come fast enough. I'll come to-morrow." he added obeying a suddenimpulse, Ted fashion.
"Will you?" The girl's face flushed with delight. "When?"
"To-morrow afternoon. I can't dodge the ivy stuff in the morning. Willfour o'clock do all right?"
"Yes. Come here to this same place."
"I say, Madeline, can't I come to the house? I hate doing it like this."
"No, you can't. If you want to see me you'll have to do it this way. It'slots nicer here than in the house, anyway."
Ted acquiesced, since he had no choice, and rose, announcing that it wastime to go now.
"We don't have to go yet. I told Grandpa I was going to spend theevening with my friend, Linda Bates. He won't know. We can stay as longas we like."
"I am afraid we can't," said Ted decidedly. "Come on, my lady." He heldout both hands and Madeline let him draw her to her feet, though she waspouting a little at his gainsaying of her wishes.
"You may kiss me now," she said suddenly, lifting her face to his.
But Ted backed away. The code was still on. A girl of his own kind hewould have kissed in a moment at such provocation, or none. But he hadan odd feeling of needing to protect this girl from herself as well asfrom himself.
"You had more sense than I did last night. Let's follow your lead insteadof mine," he said. "It's better."
"But Ted, you will come to-morrow?" she pleaded. "You won't forget or goback on your promise?"
"Of course, I'll come," promised Ted again readily.
Five minutes later they parted, he to take his car, and she to stroll inthe opposite direction toward her friend Linda's house.
"He is a dear," she thought. "I'm glad he wouldn't kiss me, so there,"she said aloud to a dusty daisy that peered up at her rather mockinglyfrom the gutter.
An automobile horn honked behind her. She stepped aside, but thecar stopped.
"Well, here is luck. Where are you going, my pretty maid?" called a gay,bold voice.
She turned. The speaker was one Willis Hubbard, an automobile agent byprofession, lady's man and general Lothario by avocation. His handsomedark face stood out clearly in the dusk. She could see the avid shine inhis eyes. She hated him all of a sudden, though hitherto she had secretlyrather admired him, though she had always steadily refused hisinvitations.
For Madeline was wary. She knew how other girls had gone out with Willisin his smart car and come back to give rather sketchy accounts of theevening's pleasure jaunt. Her friend Linda had tried it once and remarkedlater that Willis was some speed and that Madeline had the right hunch tokeep away from him.
But it happened that Madeline Taylor was the particular peach that WillisHubbard hankered after. He didn't like them too easy, ready to drop fromthe bough at the first touch. All the same, he meant to have his way inthe end with Madeline. He had an excellent opinion of his powers as aconquering male. He had, alas, plenty of data to warrant it in hisrelations with the fair and sometimes weak sex.
"What's your hurry, dearie?" he asked now. "Come on for a spin. It's thepink of the evening."
But she thanked him stiffly and refused, remembering Ted Holiday's honestblue eyes.
"What are you so almighty prunes and prisms for, all of a sudden? It'sthe wrong game to play with a man, I can tell you, if you want to have agood time in the world. I say, Maidie, be a good girl and come out withme to-morrow night. We'll have dinner somewhere and dance and make anight of it. Say yes, you beauty. A girl like you oughtn't to stay coopedup at home forever. It's against nature."
But again Madeline refused and moved away with dignity.
"Your grandfather will never know. You can plan to stay with Lindaafterward. I'll meet you by the sycamore tree just beyond the Bates'place at eight sharp--give you the best time you ever had in your life.Believe me, I'm some little spender when I get to going."
"No, thank you, Mr. Hubbard. I tell you I can't go."
He stared at the finality of her manner. He had no means of knowing thathe was being measured up, to his infinite disadvantage, with a blue eyedlad who
had stirred something in the girl before him that he himselfcould never have roused in a thousand years. But he did know he was beingsnubbed and the knowledge disturbed his fond conceit of self.
"Highty tighty with your 'Mr. Hubbards'! You will sing another tune byto-morrow night. I'll wait at the sycamore and you'll be there. See ifyou won't. You're no fool, Maidie. You want a good time and you know I'mthe boy to give it to you. So long! See you to-morrow night." He startedhis motor, kissed his hand impudently to her and was off down the road,leaving Madeline to follow slowly, in his dust.