Brenda's Ward Part 20

"Then what shall I do, mamma? It will be terrible to disappoint three people I've invited to so important an affair as this."

"There is only one thing, my dear. If you fail to recover the tickets, you can pay single admissions at the door, and if you remember the number of your seats or in a general way where they are, you can take possession of them."

"Thank you, mamma, that certainly is the only way, but dear me, four single admissions at one dollar apiece; this is something I hadn't planned for, and I intended to be so economical the rest of the spring."

As quickly as she could, Martine hastened away to the postoffice, only to find that the mail from the box in which she had deposited her letters would not reach the office until half-past two, and that even then it was doubtful if the envelope would be given to her immediately.

The only way, then, of saving her reputation as a hostess was to follow her mother's suggestion. She met her friends as she had planned, paid for admission to the hall and after some discussion with a rather obtuse usher at last found herself in possession of her own seats. It is to be feared that her impressions of the great pianist were sadly blurred that afternoon. Her brain was automatically working out problems of expenditure. She was trying to plan in what way she could economize to make up for the extravagance of this Paderewski matinee--to make up not only for this, but for various other needless expenses that she had lately incurred. So abstracted was she that she failed to join in the applause repeatedly showered on the musician, and on leaving the hall, she had very little to say to her friends. At the hotel afterwards, however, she brightened up and confided to Priscilla and Grace the way in which she had lost the tickets.

"I think you managed very well," said Priscilla, "I should not have had the least idea what to do if anything like that happened to me."

"Neither should I," added Grace, "but you are always clever about things, Martine."

"Oh, no, it was all mamma; I felt quite sure at first that I should have to telephone you not to meet me, but 'all's well that ends well,' and I'm so glad that that stupid usher let us have our seats; for you know they told me at the box office that actually there wasn't a seat to sell in the whole house, and ours were about the last admissions."

"You were fortunate enough," said Miss Mings who had listened with considerable amus.e.m.e.nt to Martine's entertaining account of her mistake adventure.

"Our afternoon with you has been so pleasant that I should have been very sorry to lose it."

"Oh, I should have made it up in some way," responded Martine. "We were bound to have this little tea here, and we might have taken a drive through the Park instead of hearing Paderewski. Truly, now, it would have been more fun, wouldn't it, Priscilla?"

Honest Priscilla shook her head.

"Nothing could have been more delightful than this concert, though of course if we had had to give it up I should have made the best of it."

"As you do of everything, Prissie dear. I only wish that I were half as amiable as you."

Martine's economy did not extend very far. She refrained from doing some things that she would like to have done, when to do them meant going outside of her regular allowance. But each month's spending money was soon laid out on the various little things that pleased her fancy, and as she heard no more of depressing business conditions, she almost forgot her mother's warning.

A week after the matinee Martine received a letter from Elinor Naylor.

"Listen, mother," she said, "isn't this the funniest thing? Elinor says that a few days ago she received an unsealed letter from me--at least the envelope was unsealed, but there wasn't a sc.r.a.p of writing inside.

Instead there were four tickets for a concert by Paderewski. She wondered why I sent them as she didn't receive them until the day after the date on the tickets. Now she returns them--and here they are! Isn't it ridiculous?"

"Your carelessness certainly was ridiculous."

"I understand it all now," cried Martine. "I had addressed and stamped an envelope to Elinor, as I sometimes do when I am intending to write.

Then when I wanted to put my tickets away, I picked up this envelope without looking at the addressed side. Of course the tickets went safely to Philadelphia."

"'Until I looked at the date,'" Martine read from Elinor's letter, "'I thought you had heard of my intention of coming to Boston, and meant me to hear Paderewski. But as I do not leave home until next week, there must be some other explanation.'"

"I had no idea that Elinor was coming here," said Martine. "But I am delighted. If she can manage it, mightn't I have her here to spend a day or two with me? I know you would like her."

"Certainly, my dear," replied Mrs. Stratford, and when Elinor accepted her invitation, Martine was delighted. Although Elinor could spare her only two days, both girls made the most of their time, and parted the best of friends, greatly to their own amus.e.m.e.nt. For both Elinor and Martine, whose friendship was of sudden growth, had begun their acquaintance with more or less prejudice. The acquaintance had developed into friendship chiefly through correspondence, as both girls had a gift for writing interesting letters.

A chance commission which Elinor had entrusted to Martine the day of their drive to Cambridge had occasioned the first interchange of letters after Elinor's return to Philadelphia, and in the succeeding months they had continued to write once a fortnight. Thus their friendship had developed without their having seen much of each other, and Elinor's flying visit was delightful to them both in showing them how much they really had in common.

CHAPTER XIII

AT PLYMOUTH

"Mother," said Martine, a week before Easter, "I have a splendid plan."

"Well, my dear, what is it?"

"Wouldn't it be fine to take Priscilla to New York for the holidays?

Just think! she has never been there--and at her age--!"

Mrs. Stratford could but laugh at Martine's seriousness.

"I imagine many persons twice Priscilla's age have never been in New York."

"Oh, yes--but Boston is so near--and Priscilla ought to go because she has the strangest notions about New York people--that they are all frivolous, with nothing to do but amuse themselves. I would like to have her at the Waldorf for a few days. Wouldn't she open her eyes? I am just crazy to take her!"

"I fear it isn't feasible, my dear, to go away now."

"But you like New York, and a change always benefits you."

"Oh, yes."

"You like Priscilla, too?"

"Certainly. She is an excellent companion for you. You balance each other perfectly, and I should be glad to have you spend your holidays together. But New York--no, my dear, we must be careful this spring about spending money--your father has had losses and expenses."

Something in her mother's tone impressed Martine, something in her words, too, as well as in her tone. She had seldom heard either her father or her mother talk of economy, except in occasional instances when she herself had been carelessly extravagant. Now the mention of her father stirred her.

"Oh, I hope that wasn't why papa went away, on account of money. Of course I know we have to be more economical--but a trip to New York is so short, and we always have travelled so much."

"I know it, dear. But, fortunately, neither of us needs change just now.

There is much in Boston that you have not yet seen, and I can imagine your spending the vacation delightfully without leaving the city."

"Oh, I am sure I could, mamma; and now that you have spoken of it, I should just love to economize. I don't need a new spring hat--the one I had last season is as good as new--and if you would let the cook go--I am sure that Angelina and I could do all the work." Martine spoke anxiously, even excitedly. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright.

"There is no need of any desperate economy just yet. But if you and Lucian can be contented with me, I can promise you a pleasant vacation."

"I am sure of it, mamma; let us make some plans now."

But the plans that Martine and her mother made were not destined to be carried out--at least, during this particular vacation. For a couple of days before school closed an invitation came from Mrs. Danforth, urging Martine to spend a week at Plymouth. Immediately New York lost all its attractiveness for Martine. To visit Plymouth was her one desire.

"It will be delightful, Puritan Prissie"--even now she could not resist her love of teasing--"to see the place where you were 'raised,' as they say down South. I wonder if there's something in the air to make Plymouth people different from others. To be sure, you are the only one I've ever seen."

"Am I so very different from other people?" Priscilla spoke as if not altogether pleased with Martine's words.

"Not too different--only you are fearfully conscientious, and you fuss too much over little things, and you know how to economize--which I wish I did. But for all that, you are not half bad, and your mother is perfectly lovely to invite a girl she has never seen to spend a week with her. You must have given a good account of me."

"Of course, Martine, and she has heard of you from others--if only you wouldn't make fun of everything."