Re-Creations

  Cornelia, watching furtively and thankfully from her corner where she was showing Brand Barlock a book of college photographs and explaining some of the college jokes inscribed beneath them, marveled at his patience and skill. She had not known him long, only two hours, but he was so obviously of another world from this girl and yet was making her feel so entirely comfortable and happy, that she felt humiliated and ashamed that she had not been able to do the same for the girl. She had invited her with a real feeling that she might be able to help her somehow—at least, that was what she thought she had for one of her objects—but now she began to suspect that perhaps she had in reality desired to humiliate the girl and put her into such a position that Carey would not want to go with her any longer. The girl had shown that she was unhappy and out of her element, and Cornelia had not helped her to find any possible basis for understanding with those about her. It was all wrong, and she ought to have gone further into things and planned to uplift that girl, even if she didn’t want to lift her up to the social plane of her own brother. There might be senses in which Carey wasn’t so very much higher than the girl, too. He needed uplifting a lot. Of course, that girl wouldn’t help lift him nor he her as things were, but Cornelia had had no right whatever to humble her for the sake of saving her brother.

  Maxwell was tactful. He managed to draw Louise and Brand Barlock into the game after awhile, and when they had grown tired of that, he led them into the dining room, where Carey and Grace had just finished a game of Ping-Pong on the dining room table and insisted that they four-play a set. Brand soon gave up his racket to Harry and drifted into the other room, but it was half past ten when the others came back into the living room, where Grace Kendall was singing some Scotch songs, and sat down to listen.

  Cornelia looked at Clytie Dodd in surprise. All the boldness and impudence had melted out of her face, with much of the makeup and powder that had been transferred to her handkerchief during the heated excitement of the game. Her hair had lost its tortured look, and her face was just that of an ordinary happy little girl who had been having a good, healthy time. She felt almost on an equality with the people around her because this nice man had been nice to her. She rather hated that yellow-haired girl in blue who had absorbed the attention of her own two special satellites, but what were they but kids beside this man of the world? She stole a look at his fine, strong face and had perhaps a fleeting vision of what it might be to have a man friend such as he was—and who shall say but a fleeting revelation, too, of what a girl must be to have such a friend? She saw him look across the room to where his young hostess sat, and smile, a smile with a kind of mysterious light like signal lights at sea. She looked curiously to where Carey’s sister sat and saw with a startled new insight how young and really lovely this girl was, and she sat silent, a little wondering, in rare thoughtfulness.

  Grace Kendall finished her song and suddenly whirled around on the piano stool and looked at her watch.

  “Oh, my dear!” she said, glancing up at Cornelia. “Do you see what time it is? And I have to be up at half past five tomorrow morning to get Father’s breakfast before he goes to New York. I must say, ‘Good night,’ and hurry right home.”

  Both Carey and Brand rose and hurried up to her in a confidential way.

  “I’ll take you—” began Carey.

  “My car is right at the door,” put in Brand dictatorially. “I’ll take you, of course.”

  Carey looked vexed then met Brand’s eyes sheepishly.

  “Well, I’ll take her, and you can drive,” he said. And then suddenly they both looked at Clytie, and their tongues clove to the roofs of their mouths, for Clytie had risen with black brows, her sullen, defiant glance returning.

  Then Maxwell stepped forward as if he had heard nothing.

  “Miss Dodd, my car is here. I’ll be glad to see that you get safely home.” And Clytie’s face cleared. She sped upstairs to get her wraps.

  “Haven’t we had a beautiful time?” said Grace Kendall, putting an intimate arm around her as they reached the top of the stairs. “I think they’re most charming people. Do you know you have a lovely alto voice? Do you live near here? We’d love to have you in our young people’s choir if you don’t belong somewhere else.”

  “Where is it?” asked Clytie casually, half suspiciously. She was surprised that there was no look of rivalry in the face of the girl who had obviously carried off both the younger men from her following, but it seemed as if this strangely sweet girl did not realize that she had done such a thing, did not even seem to have wanted to do it. Clytie suddenly smiled and showed the first glimpse of real simplicity and childlikeness that had been visible that evening. She was little more than a child, anyway, and perhaps would not have gone in her present ways if any other that promised a little pleasure had been opened to her.

  “No, I don’t b’long nowheres,” she giggled. “Not since I was a kid. I useta go ta two er three Sunday schools, but I cut ‘em all out after I grew up. Took too much time. I like my Sundays fer fun. That’s when you get the most auto rides, you know. But I wouldn’t mind singing sometime, mebbe.”

  When they came downstairs, they were arm in arm and chatting quite pleasantly. Grace had promised to come and see her and take her to Christian Endeavor the next Sunday night and introduce her to the leader of the young people’s choir; and Cornelia, waiting to receive her guests’ farewell, wondered and was thankful.

  They all went out together, talking a bit loudly and hilariously, Clytie’s voice now raised in her old shrill, uncultured clang. Maxwell, lingering for a moment in the doorway, spoke to Cornelia.

  “I want to thank you for letting me come.”

  She turned to him with a look of suffering in her eyes. “I don’t know what you must think of us,” she said in a low tone, “having that impossible girl here! An invited guest!”

  He looked down at her, smiling with a hint of tenderness in his look, for he saw that she was very tired.

  “I think you are a brave girl,” he said earnestly. “And I think your experiment was a success. May I come back for a few minutes and help wash dishes? I’m taking your young brother Harry with me and shall have to bring him back, you know. We’ll talk it all over then.”

  He touched his hat and vanished into the starlit night.

  Cornelia flushed, wondering, half dismayed, ready to drop with fatigue, yet strangely elated. She stood a moment in the doorway, looking after the two cars as they whirled away down the street and letting the cool evening breeze blow on her hot forehead, then turned back to the bright, pretty room, somehow soothed and comforted. A thought had come to her. She had prayed for help, and God had sent it—right into the midst of her consternation He had sent that young man to help! And how he had helped! What a tower of strength he had been all the awful evening!

  But then Louise fell upon her with joyful exclamations. “It was a success, Nellie, wasn’t it? A great success! Wasn’t he great? Wasn’t it wonderful that Father should have found him and brought him in? Wasn’t it just like an answer, Nellie, don’t you think? He kept her away from Carey all the evening, and Carey had a lovely time with Miss Kendall. And Brand said he had a good time, too, and told me he wished you would ask him again. He talked to me a lot while you were talking to the others. He said he’d take us all out in his car sometime if you would go; and he said he thought you were a wonderful sister and a beautiful girl! He did, Nellie, he said it just like that, ‘Your sister is a bee-yew-ti-ful girl!’ And he meant it! And it was true, Nellie. You did look just wonderful. Your cheeks were such a pretty pink, and you didn’t have your nose all white like that Clytie. Say, I guess she saw it wasn’t nice to be the way she is, don’t you think she did? I don’t think she liked it the way Carey acted. I guess maybe she’ll let him alone some now, and I hope she does. My, I hope she does! I didn’t think he liked her being here, either, did you, Nellie? And say, didn’t the sherbet look lovely? And the table was the prettiest thing! Miss Kendall sai
d she never saw such a pretty table. She said you were an artist, Nellie. And Mr. Maxwell, he couldn’t say enough things about the house. Even that Brand said he wished he had a nice cozy house like this. He said his sister didn’t have time to get up birthday parties, or his mother, either; they had to have a whole townful when they had parties, and he just loved it tonight. He said twice he wished you’d ask him again. I guess he means to stick, Nellie. Will you like that?”

  “He’s not so bad,” said Cornelia, patting the little girl’s cheek. “I think maybe we can find a way to help him a little if we try. And I think maybe we ought not to feel so hard toward that poor foolish girl, either, dearie. Now, come, kitty dear, you ought to be in bed.”

  “‘Deed, no, Nellie dear. I’m going to see the whole thing through,” she chatted, hopping around on the tips of her toes. “We’ve got to wash the dishes. Harry said that Mr. Maxwell was coming back to help, too. We better get some clean aprons ready.”

  “Where is Father, Louie? Did he go up to bed?”

  “Oh, no, he went with Brand and Carey and Miss Kendall. They asked him, and he seemed real pleased. I shouldn’t wonder if Brand will come back, too, and help. He asked me if he might. I said I guessed you wouldn’t care. I thought if he didn’t, maybe he’d carry Carey off for all night or something.”

  Cornelia stooped and kissed the sweet, anxious little face.

  “It’s all right, dearie, and I guess everything’s all right. Somehow we came out of an awful place tonight, and I guess God means to see us through.”

  “I know,” said the little girl wisely. “When Clytie danced, you mean. That was awful, wasn’t it? Father looked—just—sick for a minute, didn’t he? Poor Daddy, he didn’t understand. And he doesn’t like dancing. And I thought for just a minute how awful Mother would feel. She doesn’t like it either. And that girl—she was so—awful! But my! I’m glad it’s over, aren’t you, Nellie? And say! There they come! There’s enough sherbet for everybody to have some more. Shall we have it? My, isn’t this fun?”

  They all came in and frolicked through the dishes, Brand and Maxwell entering into it with spirit. Brand didn’t do much helping, but he made a show at it, and he certainly enjoyed the angel cake and sherbet, which was most thoroughly “finished” that night. Even the father came out into the kitchen and watched the fun and talked with Maxwell, who was flourishing a dish towel and polishing glasses as if he had always done it.

  Harry and Maxwell grew very chummy, and Maxwell declared that he was under deep obligation to the boy for his supper.

  “How about it, Mr. Copley? Will you let this boy take a trip with me sometime pretty soon? I’m to go after Mother in a week or so now, and I’d like mighty well to have his company. I shall probably start next Friday, sometime in the afternoon, and expect to get back Monday sometime. That wouldn’t take him out of school many hours, and I think we’d have a first-rate time. Would you like it, son?”

  Harry’s eager face needed no words to express his joy. His eyes fairly sparkled.

  The young man took a business card from his pocket and handed it to Mr. Copley.

  “I’m really an utter stranger to you, you know,” he said with a smile, “and I can understand how you wouldn’t want to trust your boy to a stranger. I shall consider it a favor if you will look me up; ask any of the men in my firm about me. I want you to be sure about me, because I intend to come again if you will let me. I’m not running any risk of losing such perfectly good new friends as you all are, and I want Harry for the trip.”

  Mr. Copley looked the young man over admiringly.

  “Don’t you think I can tell a man when I see one?” he asked amusedly. “It’s generally written on his face, and no one can mistake.”

  “Thank you,” said Maxwell. “That is a compliment!”

  After the dishes were done, there were the ferns to be unboxed and admired, and it was after midnight when at last the two young men said good night and drove away, each with a hearty assurance that he had had a wonderful time and wanted to come again soon.

  When Cornelia went up to her room and took off her apron, out of its pocket fell a letter that she had received that morning and had been too busy to read. She opened it now. It was a brief, rattling message from one of her classmates in college, begging her to put off everything else for a few days and come to a house party with them all. It was to be down at Atlantic City, near enough to home not to make the trip expensive, and they all were crazy to see her again and tell her all about commencement. She smiled reminiscently as she laid it away in her desk drawer and found to her surprise that she had no great desire to go. She knew what the party would be, full of rollicking fun and carefree every minute of it, but somehow her heart and soul were now in her home and the new life that was opening before her. She wanted to finish the house; to make the white kitchen as charming in its way as the other rooms were getting to be; to help Carey plan a front porch he had said he would build with stone pillars; to set out some plants in the yard, finish the bedrooms, and make out a list of new furniture for the carpenter next door to buy. The minister had said he knew of some people who were refurnishing their house and wanted her professional advice. She wanted to stay and work. Mr. Maxwell was coming to take them all motoring some evening, too; and Brand had declared he would bring his sister around to call, and they would go out to ride. Life was opening up full and beautiful. College and its days seemed far away and almost childish. Tomorrow morning she and Grace Kendall were going to make curtains for one of the Sunday-school classrooms. Carey had promised to help cut them up. Oh, life wasn’t half bad! Even Clytie Amabel Dodd did not loom so formidable as earlier in the evening. She knelt and thanked God.

  Chapter 21

  When Maxwell finally turned his car cityward it was with the feeling of a naughty boy who had run away from duty and was suddenly confronted by retribution.

  He glanced at the clock in the car and noted that the hour was getting very late, and his conscience seized him. Now that he had done the thing, it suddenly seemed atrocious. He had ignored a lady in trouble and gone on a tangent. It wasn’t even the excuse of a previous engagement or the plea of old friends. It was utterly unnecessary. He had followed an impulse and accepted an utter stranger’s invitation to dinner and then had stayed all the evening and gone back to wash dishes afterward. As he thought it over he felt that either he was crazy or a coward. Was it actually true that he, a man full grown, with a will of his own, was afraid to trust himself for an hour in the company of the woman who had once been supreme in his life? What was he afraid of? Not that he would yield to her wiles after two years’ absence; not that he would break his promise to himself and marry her in spite of husbands and laws either moral or judicial. It must be that he was afraid to have his own calm disturbed. He had been through seas of agony and reached a haven of peace where he could endure and even enjoy life, and he was so selfish that he wished to remain within that haven even though it meant a breach of courtesy and an outraging of all his finer instincts.

  He forgot that his struggle earlier in the evening had been in an exactly opposite line and that the finer feelings had urged him to remain away from the woman who had once been almost his undoing. However, now that it was almost too late to mend the matter he felt that he ought to have gone. Even if her plea of asking his advice had merely been a trumped-up excuse to bring him to her side, yet was it not the part of a gentleman to go? A true gentleman should never let a lady ask for help in vain. And he had promised always to be her friend. It might be that it had been an ill-advised promise, but a promise was a promise, etc.

  By that time he had arrived at his apartment and was dressing hastily. The evening and its simple experiences seemed like a pleasant dream that waking obliterates. It might return later, but now the present was upon him, and he knew Evadne when she was kept waiting. If she had not changed, there was no pleasant meeting in store for him. However, he need not tell her that he had been enjoying himself all th
e evening and had forgotten how fast time was flying.

  Arrived at the hotel he went at once to the desk and asked for the lady. The clerk asked his name and called a bellboy. “Go page Miss Chantry,” he said. “She’s in the ballroom.” Then turning to Maxwell, he said, “She left word you were to wait for her in the reception room over there.”

  “No, don’t page her,” said Maxwell sharply. “I’ll go and find her myself.”

  “Oh, all right! Just as you please! Those were her orders.”

  Maxwell turned toward the elevators, half inclined, after all, not to see her. She had not been in such distress but that she could amuse herself, after all. But that was Evadne, of course. He must expect that. Besides, she was doubtless angry at his delay.

  Maxwell got off the gallery floor expecting to find the lady seated in one of the little quiet nooks overlooking the happy throng, but he made the rounds without finding her and paused at the last door to look down on the moving, throbbing, colorful life below.

  The orchestra was beating out a popular bit of elevated jazz, and the floor below was like a kaleidoscope as the couples wove their many-colored patterns in and out among each other.