CHAPTER XII
A SLIGHT DISAGREEMENT
The Friday afternoon meeting of the Sigma Sigma literary society brokeup with the usual confused mingling of chatter and laughter. There hadbeen a lively debate, and Joyce and Cynthia, as two of the opponents,had just finished roundly and wordily belaboring each other. Theyentwined arms now, amiably enough, and strolled away to collect theirbooks and leave for home. Out on the street, Cynthia suddenly began:
"Do you know, we've never had that illumination in the Boarded-up Housethat we planned last fall, when we commenced cleaning up there."
"We never had enough money for candles," replied Joyce.
"Yes, I know. But still I've always wanted to do it. Suppose we buysome and try it soon,--say to-morrow?" Joyce turned to her companionwith an astonished stare.
"Why, Cynthia Sprague! You _know_ it's near the end of the month, andI'm down to fifteen cents again, and I guess you aren't much better off!What nonsense!"
"I have two dollars and a half. I've been saving it up ever so long--notfor that specially--but I'm perfectly willing to use it for that."
"Well, you are the queerest one!" exclaimed Joyce. "Who would havethought you'd care so much about it! Of course, I'm willing to go in forit, but I can't give my share till after the first of the month. Why doyou want to do it so soon?"
"Oh, I don't know--just because I _do_!" replied Cynthia, a littleconfused in manner. "Come! Let's buy the candles right off. And supposewe do a little dusting and cleaning up in the morning, and fix thecandles in the candelabrum, and in the afternoon light them up and havethe fun of watching them?" Joyce agreed to this heartily, and theyturned into a store to purchase the candles. Much to Joyce's amazement,Cynthia insisted on investing in the best _wax_ ones she could obtain,though they cost nearly five cents apiece.
"Tallow ones will do!" whispered Joyce, aghast at such extravagance. ButCynthia shook her head, and came away with more than fifty.
"I wanted them _good_!" she said, and Joyce could not budge her fromthis position. Then, to change the subject, which was plainly becomingembarrassing to her, Cynthia abruptly remarked:
"Don't forget, Joyce, that you are coming over to my house to dinner,and this evening we'll do our studying, so that to-morrow we can havethe whole day free. And bring your music over, too. Perhaps we'll havetime to practise that duet afterward."
"I will," agreed Joyce, and she turned in at her own gate.
Joyce came over that evening, bringing her books and music. As Mr. andMrs. Sprague were occupying the sitting-room, the two girls decided towork in the dining-room, and accordingly spread out their books andpapers all over the big round table. Cynthia settled down methodicallyand studiously, as was her wont. But Joyce happened to be in one of her"fly-away humors" (so Cynthia always called them), when she found itquite impossible to concentrate her thoughts or give her seriousattention to anything. These moods were always particularly irritatingto Cynthia, who rarely indulged in causeless hilarity, especially atstudy periods. Prudently, however, she made no remarks.
"Let's commence with geometry," she suggested, opening the text-book."Here we are, at Proposition XVI."
"All right," assented Joyce, with deceptive sweetness. "Give me a penciland paper, please." Cynthia handed them to her and began:
"Angle A equals angle B."
"_Angel_ A equals _angel_ B," murmured Joyce after her.
"Joyce, I wish you would _not_ say that!" interrupted Cynthia, sharply.
"Why not?" inquired Joyce with pretended surprise, at the same timedecorating the corners of her diagram with cherubic heads and wings.
"Because it confuses me so I can't think!" said Cynthia. "Please callthings by their right names."
"But it makes no difference with the proof, what you call things ingeometry," argued Joyce, "whether it's angles or angels or caterpillarsor coal-scuttles,--it's all the same in the end!" Cynthia ignored this,swallowed her rising wrath, and doggedly began anew:
"Angle A equals angle B!" But Joyce, who was a born tease, could no moreresist the temptation of baiting Cynthia, than she could have refused achocolate ice-cream soda, so she continued to make foolish andirrelevant comments on every geometrical statement, until, in sheerexasperation, Cynthia threw the book aside.
"It's no use!" she groaned. "You're not in a studying frame of mind,Joyce--certainly not for geometry. I'll go over that myself Mondaymorning; but what _you're_ going to do about it, I don't know--and Idon't much care! But we've got to get through somehow. Let's try thealgebra. You always like that. Do you think you could put your mind onit?"
"I'll try," grinned Joyce, in feigned contrition. "I'll make thegreatest effort. But you don't seem to realize that I'm actually working_very_ hard to-night!" Cynthia opened her algebra, picked out theproblem, and read:
"'A farmer sold 300 acres--'" when Joyce suddenly interrupted:
"Do you know, Cynthia, I heard the most interesting problem the otherday. I wonder if you could solve it."
"What is it?" asked Cynthia, thankful for any awakening symptom ofinterest in her difficult friend.
"Why, this," repeated Joyce with great gravity. "'If it takes anelephant ten minutes to put on a white vest, how many pancakes will ittake to shingle a freight-car?'" Cynthia's indignation was rapidlywaxing hotter but she made one more tremendous effort to control it.
"Joyce, I told you that I was serious about this studying."
"But so am I!" insisted the wicked Joyce. "Now let's try to work thatout. Let _x_ equal the number of pancakes--" The end of Cynthia'spatience had come, however. She pushed the books aside.
"Joyce Kenway, you are--_abominable_! I wish you would go home!"
"Well, I won't!" retorted Joyce, giggling inwardly, "but I'll leave youto your own devices, if you like!" And she rose from the table, walkedwith great dignity to a distant rocking-chair, seated herself in it, andpretended to read the daily paper which she had removed from its seat.From time to time she glanced covertly in Cynthia's direction. But therewas no sign of relenting in that young lady. She was, indeed, too deeplyindignant, and, moreover, had immersed herself in her work. PresentlyJoyce gave up trying to attract her attention, and began to read thepaper in real earnest,--a thing which she seldom had the time or theinterest to do.
There was a long silence in the room, broken only by the scratch ofCynthia's pencil or the rustling of a turned page. Suddenly Joyce lookedup.
"Cynthia!" she began. Her voice sounded different now. It had lost itsteasing tone and seemed a little muffled. But Cynthia was obdurate.
"I don't want to talk to you!" she reiterated. "I wish you'd go home!"
"Very well, Cynthia, I will!" answered Joyce, quietly. And she gatheredup her books and belongings, giving her friend a queer look as she leftthe room without another word.
Later, Cynthia put away her work, yawned, and rose from the table. Shewas beginning to feel just a trifle sorry that she had been so shortwith her beloved friend.
"But Joyce was simply impossible, to-night!" she mused. "I never knewher to be quite so foolish. Hope she isn't really offended. But she'llhave forgotten all about it by to-morrow morning.... I wonder whereto-day's paper is? Joyce was reading it--or pretending to! I want to seethe weather report for to-morrow. I hope it's going to be fair....Pshaw! I can't find it. She must have gathered it up with her things andtaken it with her. That was mighty careless--but just like Joyce! I'mgoing to bed!"