Concerning Sally Part 30

"See, mother, dear," she said, "what d.i.c.k has asked. Do you suppose we can go, mother, or would it be too much for you? I should like to go."

Mrs. Ladue smiled fondly at her daughter. "Of course you would, darling. I'll see what Patty says, but I guess you can go. Perhaps, if Patty doesn't want to, I can get Doctor Beatty to let me. I believe I should like it myself. Now, don't let the prospect make you forget your part."

"No danger," replied Sally rea.s.suringly. "Now I must run."

Sally had the valedictory, or whatever it is to which the first scholar in the cla.s.s is ent.i.tled. I am not versed in such matters, not having been concerned, at my graduation, with the duties or the privileges of the first scholar of the cla.s.s. But Sally had kept her place at the head of a dwindling cla.s.s with no difficulty and Mr.

MacDalie expected great things of her. She acquitted herself as well as was expected, which is saying a good deal; and after the exercises were over, she went out with Jane Spencer, leaving her mother and Uncle John and Mr. MacDalie talking together. Patty was talking with Doctor Beatty, who had come in late.

Patty glanced up at Doctor Beatty with a smile. "Does that remind you of anything?" she asked gently, nodding in Sally's direction.

It is to be feared that the doctor was not paying attention. "What?"

He brought his chair and his gaze down together. He had been tilting back in the chair and looking at the ceiling. "What? Sally? Her foot, perhaps,--but that's all right years ago and it isn't likely that you meant that. No, Patty, I give it up. What's the answer?"

Miss Patty was disappointed. Perhaps she ought to have got used to being disappointed by Meriwether Beatty, by this time, but she hadn't.

She sighed a little.

"No, I didn't mean her foot. I meant her wandering off with Eugene Spencer. He's the handsomest boy in the cla.s.s. Doesn't it remind you of--of our own graduation and our wandering away--so?"

The doctor roared. "That was a good many years ago, Patty." It was unkind of him to remind her of that. "You couldn't expect me to remember the circ.u.mstances. I believe I am losing my memory; from old age, Patty, old age." That was more unkind still, for Patty was but a few months younger than he, and he knew it and she knew that he knew it. "So we wandered away, did we?"

Sally did not hear this conversation, for she was already halfway downstairs with Jane. Neither of them had spoken.

"Jane," she said suddenly.

A shadow of annoyance crossed his face. "Sally," he mildly protested, "I wish you wouldn't call me Jane--if you don't mind."

"Why," returned Sally in surprise, "don't you like it? I supposed you did. Of course I won't call you by a name you don't like. I'm very sorry. Eugene, then?"

"If you will. It's rather better than Jane, but it's bad enough."

Sally laughed. "You're hard to please. How would it do for me to call you Hugh--or Earl Spencer. Or, no. I'd have to call you your Grace."

She stopped and made him a curtsy; Jane was not to be outdone and, although taken somewhat off his guard, he made her a bow with as much grace as even Piers Gaveston could have put into it.

"Your Highness does me too much honor," he replied solemnly; and they both laughed from sheer high spirits. "No, Sally, you're wrong," he added. "The old gentleman was no relative of mine. But I believe I interrupted you. What were you going to say--right first off, you know, when I asked you not to call me Jane?"

"I was going to tell you that d.i.c.k Torrington has asked me to go up for his Cla.s.s Day."

"d.i.c.k Torrington!" exclaimed Jane, mystified. "Why, Sally, he's ever so much older than you."

"Now, Jane, what has--I beg your pardon,--Eugene, but it's hard to remember. But, Eugene, what has the difference in age to do with it?

It has never seemed to make any difference to d.i.c.k. You know that he's as kind as he can be and probably he just thought that I would enjoy it."

They had pa.s.sed through the crowded corridor--crowded because, in one of the rooms on that floor, there was in preparation what the papers would call a modest collation--and they were out in the yard. Jane stopped short and looked at Sally with a puzzled expression.

"I wonder, Sally," he said slowly, "if you know--but you evidently don't," he added. He seemed relieved at the result of his inspection.

"Of course you'll go, but I can't help wishing you wouldn't."

"Why?" she asked. "I mean to go if I can. Why would you rather I wouldn't?"

He hesitated for some moments. "I don't know that I can tell you.

Perhaps you'll understand sometime. h.e.l.lo! What do you suppose they've got?"

Ollie Pilcher and the Carlings pa.s.sed rapidly across their line of vision.

"Furtive sort of manner," continued Jane hurriedly. "I'll bet they're hiding something. Let's see what it is. What do you say, Sally?"

Sally nodded and they ran, coming upon the three suddenly. The Carlings started guiltily and seemed about to say something; but although they had opened their mouths, no speech issued.

"Sing it, you twins. What have you got? Come, pony up. We spotted you.

Or perhaps you want the free-lunch committee to swoop down on you."

If Sally had not been there the result might have been different. No doubt Jane had made allowance for the moral effect of her presence.

The Carlings, severally, were still her slaves; or they would have been if she had let them. They grinned sheepishly and Horry drew something from under his jacket. It was done up in paper, but there was no mistaking it.

Jane reached forth an authoritative hand. Ollie remonstrated. "I say, Jane,--"

"Filcher," remarked Jane, "for filcher you are, although you may have persuaded these poor innocent boys to do the actual filching--Filcher, you'd better suspend further remarks. Otherwise I shall feel obliged to divide this pie into quarters instead of fifths. Quarters are much easier. It is a pie, I feel sure; a squash pie, I do not doubt. Is it quarters or fifths, Filcher?"

As Jane was in possession of the pie, Ollie thought it the part of discretion to compromise. A clump of lilacs hid them from the schoolhouse, and Jane divided the pie, which proved to be filled with raisins, into five parts with his knife.

"I wish to congratulate you, Horry, upon your excellent care of this pie in transit." He pa.s.sed the plate to Horry as he spoke. "No, this is your piece, Horry. That piece is destined for me. In view of the unavoidable inequality of the pieces, we will give Filcher the plate."

Sally was chuckling as she ate her piece of pie, which she held in her hand.

"Th--th--this w--w--weath--ther's t--t--terrible h--h--hard on p--p--pies," observed Horry thoughtfully, after a long silence.

"It w--w--wouldn't k--k--keep," said Harry, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"It wouldn't," Jane agreed.

Ollie was sc.r.a.ping the plate. "Can't get any more out of that plate,"

he sighed at last; and he scaled the tin plate into an inaccessible place between the lilacs and the fence.

They moved away slowly. "I wonder," Jane remarked, reflectively, "who sent that pie."

Sally chuckled again. "Cousin Patty sent it," she said.

CHAPTER VIII

Sally found that summer very full. To begin with, there was d.i.c.k's Cla.s.s Day, which was her first great occasion. I do not know what better to call it and it must have been a great occasion for her, for, although it did not last very long,--days never do,--the memory of it has not completely faded even yet; and it was twelve years ago.

As if to make her joy complete, her mother had gone and Miss Patty had not. Not that Sally had ever the least conscious objection to Miss Patty's going anywhere, but Patty always acted as a sort of damper upon too much joy. Poor Patty! She had not the slightest wish to be a sort of a damper and she did not suspect that she was.

Mrs. Ladue was no damper. She had sat in d.i.c.k's particular easy-chair, very smiling and content, while d.i.c.k brought things to eat and to drink to her and to Sally in the window-seat. And there had been a puzzled look in d.i.c.k's eyes all the time that made Mrs. Ladue laugh and made Sally blush whenever she saw it. It was as if d.i.c.k's eyes had just been opened; and he found it hard to realize that the blossoming young creature in his window-seat was the same Sally that he had known so well. That and other considerations will explain Mrs. Ladue's laughter well enough, but hardly explain why Sally should have blushed. I don't know why she did and I doubt if she could have told.