CHAPTER II
A GOING-AWAY PARTY—HARDING STYLE
FOR a while everybody who didn’t know what the excitement was about asked questions at once, and everybody who did, which meant the B’s and Madeline, answered at once,—a process resulting in that delightful confusion that is the very nicest part about telling a secret. Finally things quieted down a little, and Babbie was called upon to “tell us all about it.”
“Why, it’s just this way,” she explained. “Mother’s doctor ordered her to Europe. She isn’t strong, you know, and the change is good for her. But he said she mustn’t motor this time because it’s too wearing; but must travel quietly, and rest a lot, and so on. Well, mother isn’t much for quiet herself, so she was afraid I might be bored, just with her and Marie, and no car to run while she takes naps. So she told me to ask Bob and Babe to join us—this all came up after commencement, you understand. And Babe would, but Bob wouldn’t, because of her fresh-air kids; so then I asked Betty. Not that she’s second choice one bit,” added Babbie hastily, “only of course the B’s——”
“You needn’t apologize,” Betty interrupted her. “Of course the B’s ask each other first! As for me, I’m too overjoyed to be going to think of anything else.”
“But I don’t see why you didn’t tell her that you’d asked her,” said little Helen Adams, the practical minded.
“Oh, that was mother’s idea,” Babbie went on. “She wanted you to come, Betty, just as much as I did; but she said that she didn’t know your father and mother, and she didn’t know how they would feel about trusting their daughter for a whole summer to a perfect stranger. And she thought it would be easier for them to refuse, for that or any other reason, if you didn’t know. Oh, I’ve just been aching to have you get that letter,” sighed Babbie rapturously.
“But suppose it had said the wrong thing,” suggested Babe.
“Then we could have talked about it all the same,” put in Madeline. “I like the way you leave me out of all your explanations, Babbie Hildreth.”
“Well, I can’t think of everything at once,” Babbie defended herself. “Besides, you just dropped in.”
“Yes, I’m only the impromptu feature,” said Madeline sadly. “I always am. As I have often explained before, I was born that way.”
“But I thought you were in a terrible rush to get to Sorrento,” said Rachel.
“I was,” admitted Madeline. “But after all why should I be in a rush? Why shouldn’t I go to Sorrento via some fun just as well as by any other route? Sorrento will keep.”
“Where is your party going, Babbie?” inquired Mrs. Brooks, who had been much entertained by all the excitement.
“Well, we’re going to sail to Glasgow, because we couldn’t get passage to any other port on such short notice. And then the doctor thinks mother ought to have some cool, bracing air to begin with. After that we don’t know. Mother says that we girls may choose, and of course Babe and I didn’t want to discuss it without Betty. And now Madeline says that it’s more fun just deciding as you go along. Mother thought it would be dull without a car,” Babbie went on eagerly, “but do you know I think it’s going to be more exciting without one, because when you have it you feel as if you ought to use it, and you have to keep to good roads. I always thought that when James didn’t want to go to a place, or Marie didn’t, James said the road was bad. Marie hates little villages, and I just love them. And Madeline will think up all sorts of queer, fascinating things to do.”
“The principal feature, though impromptu,” murmured Madeline. “Are you going away back home again for the week before we sail, Betty?”
Betty shook her head. “Nan has packed the things she thinks I’ll want, and I’m to join her at Shelter Island and help get the cottage ready for the rest of the family. They’ll all be here in time to see me off.”
“Why don’t you ask us all down there to spend the day?” suggested Madeline. “Then perhaps our stay-at-home friends would take the hint and give a going-away party for us.”
“But we shan’t be here,” chorused Helen, Roberta, Rachel, Eleanor, and Katherine.
“And I couldn’t possibly come down for all day. Daddy won’t desert Wall Street so soon again,” added Bob sadly.
“It’s a shame not to have the party. We could think of lots of lovely things to do,” sighed Roberta.
“What’s the matter with doing them to-morrow?” proposed Dr. Brooks. “You can’t leave Mrs. Brooks and me too suddenly, you know. We’ve got to get used to missing Mary gradually. Now I’ll take you all to town in the morning and give you lunch at my club. By the time we get back, the house will be in order again and we’ll have that going-away party to amuse us during the evening.”
There was a little objection at first, for all the girls had expected to leave the next day; but Dr. Brooks speedily overruled their arguments. They had come to the wedding, he declared, and cheering up the bereft parents was part of the ceremony—everybody knew that; whereas one day at the other end of the trip wouldn’t matter at all. So Babe nominated Bob and Roberta as committee on arrangements for the going-away party and, according to “Merry Heart” procedure, unceremoniously declared them elected, after which Dr. Brooks carried them off to his study to make plans for the next day’s campaign.
The going-away party was a distinctly collegiate function, marked by all the originality and joyous abandon that belong by right to every Harding festivity. Contrary to social precedent it began with toasts. That was Eleanor’s fault, Bob explained. She had made a mistake and put ice in the lemonade too soon, and so it had to be drunk immediately. So Katherine grew eloquent on “the Sorrows of Parting for the Second Time in Two Weeks, when you have exhausted all your pretty speeches on the first round.” Bob described “Europe As I Shall Not See It,” and Babe “Europe As I Hope to See It if not Prevented by the Frivolity of my Friends.” Madeline was really witty in her account of “the Impromptu Elements in Foreign Travel—myself, the English climate, and others.” Rachel toasted “the Desert Island Honeymooners, absent but not forgotten,” and Dr. Brooks explained “the Uses of Near-Bridesmaids,” to the infinite amusement of his guests. After that Roberta said she was sorry about there not being time for the other toasts, but they were all written down on the program and if everybody would tell Babbie that hers was too cute for anything and Eleanor that she could certainly make the best speeches, they would pass on to the “stunts.”
These consisted of examinations to test the fitness of the European party for its trip. Betty was the first victim. She was required to tie on a chiffon veil “so you will look too sweet for anything and all the men on board the boat will be crazy about you,”—though Rachel pointed out that it wasn’t much of a test, because Betty always looked that way. Next Madeline was requested to prove that she knew how to be seasick on the proper occasions. Babe, whose French accent had been a college joke, was made to “parler-vous” an order for lunch, though she protested hotly that Babbie and Madeline were going to do that part—she had made her family promise solemnly that she shouldn’t be bothered with learning anything ever any more, till she wanted to. And Babbie, who had announced in one breath that she was going to travel with just one little steamer trunk this time, and in the next that she should buy four dresses at least in Paris, was invited to demonstrate how she meant to carry the clothes she needed for the trip and the four dresses all in “one little trunk.”
“Not to mention the things you are going to bring home to us,” Bob reminded her.
“Oh, but I shall have Marie pack the dresses in one of mother’s trunks,” Babbie explained easily.
“Crawl!” declared K. “As a forfeit you are condemned to do ‘Mary had a little lamb’ in your best style.”
“And Roberta ought to do the jabber-wock for us,” suggested Eleanor.
“And Madeline ought to sing a French song,” added Betty.
So all the “Merry Heart” stunts, that had amused them at Harding for four long years, and were just as funny now as they had ever been, were merrily gone through with.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” declaimed Bob at last, “we have at last arrived at the real business of this farewell party, which is the presentation of a few slight tokens of our affection, and the delicate intimation of the objects of art——”
“Or wearing apparel,” put in K.
“That we should most like to get in return,” concluded Bob pompously, with a withering glance in K.’s direction. “I may say in passing that the aforesaid intimation is strictly by request.”
The stay-at-homes and Dr. Brooks disappeared for a few minutes and came back in a laughing, bundle-laden procession, with Dr. Brooks at its head.
“I heartily approve of your resolution to travel with as little baggage as possible,” said the doctor solemnly, “so I’ve put up these prescriptions for seasickness in as concentrated a form as possible.” And he presented Betty and Babbie each with a half-gallon bottle, and Babe and Madeline with huge wooden boxes marked “Pills.” A tag on Babe’s read, “To be exchanged for fruit on day of sailing.” Madeline’s tag said, “Good for the same size at Huyler’s,” while Betty’s specified salted almonds, and Babbie’s preserved ginger.
“I’ll see that the goods are delivered at your boat,” the doctor assured them, “and if the ship’s physician doesn’t get some practice out of you it certainly won’t be my fault.”
“But you haven’t told us what you want us to bring you,” said Betty.
“Yourselves safe and sound,” said Dr. Brooks gallantly.
The girls were not so modest. Helen, who had stayed at home from the city to print the travelers’ names in indelible ink on three dozen laundry markers apiece, confessed shyly that she had always wanted a good photograph of the Mona Lisa.
“To think that you’re going to see the real one!” she said. “I’m going to begin right away to save my money for a trip abroad.”
“So am I,” echoed Rachel.
“And I,” from K.
European travel was evidently the “Merry Hearts’” latest enthusiasm.
“In the meantime,” laughed Eleanor, “here are some baggage tags for the ones who are really going. They say you have to mark all your bags and trunks over there, because they don’t have checks, and you just have to pick your things out of the big pile on the station platforms.”
“What elegance,” cried Betty, holding her shining silver marker out at arm’s length for inspection. “And what shall we bring you, Eleanor, dear?”
“A duke, if you don’t mind,” said Eleanor solemnly, and Betty solemnly wrote it down on the slip of paper on which she was recording all the girls’ wishes.
Roberta gave them each a tiny book of travel sketches not too big to slip into a shopping-bag—one was about English cathedrals, another about English inns, and the third and fourth described some Scotch and English castles.
“They look rather interesting,” said Roberta modestly, “and I remembered that none of you was specially fond of history.”
“Don’t throw it in my face that I once got a low-grade,” Babe reproached her. “Say over again the thing that you wanted, Roberta.”
“A gargoyle,” repeated Roberta.
Betty looked at her despairingly. “Please spell it, Roberta. I suppose Babbie and Madeline know just what it is.”
Babbie looked mystified. “Why should I know anything like that, Betty?”
“Because you’ve been to Paris six separate times,” declared Madeline, “and motored all through France besides. You evidently don’t go in hard for architecture, Babbie.”
“Oh, it’s architecture, is it?” said Babbie in relieved tones. “Then I don’t see how we can bring it home.”
“Only a picture of one,” Roberta expostulated.
“It’s not exactly architecture, Babbie,” teased Madeline. “It’s an animal, generally. Wouldn’t you like a real one better than a picture, Roberta? They have them in the Rue Bonaparte for two francs each.”
By this time everybody was excited on the subject of gargoyles and ready to listen while Roberta explained that gargoyles are the grotesque figures, usually in the shape of animals, that ornament Gothic cathedrals, especially the French ones.
“They’re waterspouts as well as ornaments,” protested Madeline. “Babbie Hildreth, you don’t half know your Paris. Prepare to walk down to Notre Dame in the rain with me and see the gargoyles work.”
“They sound perfectly fascinating,” said Rachel. “Here’s a picture of one in this book on architecture that I’ve brought for you. I believe I’d rather have one than a pair of gloves. Is two francs a lot of money, Madeline?”
“If it isn’t, I want a gargoyle too,” declared K. “Is there more than one kind?”
“Enough kinds to suit all tastes,” laughed Madeline. “It will be great fun picking out appropriate gargoyles for the three of you. What have you in that bundle, K.?”
K. tossed the fat parcel at the travelers, who found inside a pillow covered with brown linen, with a 19— banner fastened across it by way of ornament. “I hope you won’t all feel like sleeping in your steamer chairs at the same time,” she said. “I couldn’t afford but one pillow, and I hadn’t time to make any more banners.”
Bob’s gift was four little towels, just the right size to slip into a traveling bag for use on trains or in railway stations, a fat little pincushion with a bow to hang it up by on shipboard, and a little silk bag fitted with needles, bodkins, thread, darning cotton, buttons, hooks, a tiny pair of scissors, and everything else that one could need in a mending outfit.
“A cousin of mine gave it to me for a graduating present,” explained Bob, when the bag had been duly admired, “but it makes me sort of tired to look at it and think how many things it would mend, and as the cousin is safe in California, and I knew Betty would take to it, I’m passing it on.”
“We shall all take to it, I guess, as often as our clothes come to pieces,” declared Babe. “What shall we bring you, Bob?”
“Oh, I don’t know—something queer and out-of-the-way, that I can put on my dear old Harding desk or hang up on the wall above it. I don’t mean a picture, but any queer old thing that you would know came from abroad the minute you set eyes on it from afar.”
“Won’t that be fun to hunt up,” murmured Betty ecstatically, adding Bob’s choice to the others. “Now, Mrs. Brooks, what shall we bring you?”
“Oh, I know what she’d rather have,” cried Babbie, leaning over to whisper something in Betty’s ear and Betty laughed and wrote a few words on her paper. “It’s something that we know you admire,” explained Babbie, “because Mary had one nearly the same and you said you wished you were a bride, so people would give you such things. But perhaps you’d rather choose for yourself.”
But Mrs. Brooks professed herself quite willing to abide by Babbie’s choice. She had already told the girls that her going-away present to them was to be flowers, so “the real business of the meeting,” as Bob had expressed it, was now over; and as everybody was leaving early the next morning, it seemed best to adjourn.
There was nothing dismal about the good-byes next day. Bob was the only one who would be at the steamer to wave the travelers a farewell, but the rest promised to write steamer letters, and as Roberta said, “something will turn up before long to bring us together again. Things happen so fast in the wide, wide world.”
“It doesn’t look as if a September reunion would amount to much,” said K., “with three school-ma’ams and a foreign resident in the crowd.”
“Somebody must get married,” announced Babe. “People can always manage to come to weddings. You’re all going to be married sooner or later, except me and Bob—we’re the man-haters’ union, you know—and you might just as well be accommodating and hurry up about it.”
“You’re going to bring me a duke from abroad,” Eleanor reminded her laughingly. “If you pick out a nice one, I may decide to use him for a husband.”
“Of course we’ll pick out a nice one. Won’t it be fun assisting at the nuptials of a duke, girls? Grander even than the wedding of a Harding professor.”
“I hereby prophesy that Babe’s wedding is next on the list,” cried K. gaily.
“Why, Katherine Kittredge,” retorted Babe indignantly, “haven’t I always said——”
“That’s the point,” K. interrupted her. “Professed man-haters always marry young. There was Jane Westover and—there’s my train. Besides, you owe it to the crowd to be accommodating and abandon man-hating in the interests of matrimony and reunions.”
“My wedding next on the list, indeed!” murmured Babe angrily, as she waved her handkerchief at the departing train. “We’re going to be bachelor maids, aren’t we, Bob? with saddle-horses and Scotch collies instead of cats and canaries——”
“And fresh-air children in the summers,” added Bob absently. “I wonder what daddy’s doing to keep Jimmie Scheverin out of mischief. Here’s our train to town, girls.”