Dorothy Dale in the City Part 21

"We must be tired; all things can't be wrong," said Tavia, philosophically.

"We'll take a taxi home," said Dorothy, "Come on."

CHAPTER XV TEA IN A STABLE

"Tavia!" exclaimed Dorothy, the next afternoon, as they prepared to go to a matinee, "this address is Aunt Winnie's apartment house-the one she invested so much money in." She handed Tavia Miss Mingle's card.

"How strange that the teacher should be Aunt Winnie's tenant, and you never knew it," cried Tavia, as she arranged a bunch of orchids, real hot-house orchids, that Ned had sent.

"Won't Aunt Winnie be surprised when she learns that our little Miss Mingle is one of her tenants?" Dorothy said. She was pinning on a huge bunch of roses. Ned had laughed at the girls' tale of finding everything on the shopping tour to be false, and to prove that there were real things in New York City, had sent them these beautiful flowers to wear to the matinee.

"Indeed," continued Dorothy, "I'm mighty glad we met Miss Mingle. Aunt Winnie has had just about enough worry over that old apartment house!

Miss Mingle, no doubt, will relieve that anxiety to some extent. I do so hope that everything will come out right. But come, dear, don't look so grave, we must be gay for the show!"

Ned ran into the room. "Hurry, girls," he said, bowing low, "the motor is at the door."

"The car!" screamed the girls in delight, "where did the car come from?"

"Oh, just the magic of New York," said Ned, with a smile.

"Not the _Fire Bird_?" asked Dorothy, hat pin suspended in mid-air.

"Oh, no, just a car. Maybe you girls like being b.u.mped along on top of the 'bus, but little Neddie likes to have his hand on the wheel himself,"

said Ned.

"Running a car in New York," said Tavia, "is not North Birchland, you know. Maybe we'll get a worse b.u.mp in it than we ever dreamed of on top of the 'bus."

"Oh, I know something about it," said Ned confidently, "been downtown twice to-day in the thickest part of the traffic, and I'm back, as you'll see, if you'll stop fooling with those flowers long enough to look at me."

Tavia turned and looked lingeringly at Ned. "To-be-sure," she drawled, "there's Ned, Dorothy."

"I'm really afraid, Ned," said Dorothy, "the traffic is so awful, you know you aren't accustomed to driving through such crowds."

"If you stand there arguing all afternoon, there won't be any trouble about getting through the crowd, of course," gently reminded Ned. "It's a limousine and a dandy! Bigger than the _Fire Bird_ and a beautiful yellow!"

"Yellow!" cried Tavia in horror. "With my complexion! Couldn't you engage a car to match my hair?"

"And my feathers are green!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Just like a man, engage a car and never ask what shade we prefer!"

Tavia sat down in mock dismay. "Our afternoon is spoiled! No self-respecting person in this town ever rides in a car that doesn't match!"

"Oh, tommyrot," said Ned in deep disgust, listening in all seriousness to the girls' banter. "Who is going to look at us? Never heard of such foolishness!" And he dug his hands into his pockets, and walked gloomily about the room.

"Ned, dear, you're a darling," enthused Dorothy, "you don't really believe we are so imbued with the spirit of New York as to demand that?"

"Ned really has paid us the greatest compliment," said Tavia, complacently, "he believed it was all true, and only geniuses can produce that effect."

Fifteen minutes later, after several near-collisions, Ned drove the yellow car up to the entrance of the theatre, and while he was getting his check from the lobby usher, the girls tripped into the playhouse.

They had box seats. With intense interest the girls watched the continuous throng pouring into their places. Few of the pa.s.sing crowd, however, returned the lavish interest that was centered on them from the first floor box; no one in the vast audience knew or cared that two country girls were having their first glimpse of a New York theatre audience. They saw nothing unusual in the eager, smiling young faces, and as Dorothy said to Tavia, only the striking, unique and frightfully unusual would get more than a pa.s.sing glance from those that journey through New York town.

But Dorothy and Tavia did not look at the crowd long. It was something to be in a metropolitan theatre, witnessing one of the great successes of the season.

Soon the curtain rolled up on the first act, a beautiful parlor scene, and Tavia gave a gasp.

"Say, it beats when I went on the stage," she whispered to Dorothy, referring to a time already related in detail in "Dorothy Dale's Great Secret."

"Do you wish to go back?" asked Dorothy.

"Never!"

The play went on, and as it was something really worth while, the girls enjoyed it greatly.

"Isn't he handsome?" whispered Tavia, referring to the leading man.

"Look out, or you'll fall in love with him," returned Ned, with a grin.

"He's one of the girls' matinee idols, you know."

Between the acts Ned slipped out for a few minutes. He returned with a box of bonbons and chocolates.

"Oh, how nice!" murmured Dorothy and Tavia.

Then came the great scene of the play, and the young folks were all but spellbound. When Vice was exposed and Virtue triumphed Dorothy felt like clapping her hands, and so did the others, and all applauded eagerly.

There was a short, final act. Just before the curtain arose a step sounded in the box and to the girls' astonishment there stood Cologne.

"I've been trying to attract your attention for ever so long," she cried, after embracing and kissing her friends enthusiastically. "I'm spending the day with a chum. It's such a joy to meet you like this!"

"And yesterday we met Miss Mingle," laughed Dorothy. They drew their chairs up close, and told Cologne about the attempted theft.

"I'm so sorry for Miss Mingle," Cologne said, rather guardedly, "it seems a pity that we never tried to know her better. She must have needed our sympathy and friendship so much."

"All the time, she has been one of Aunt Winnie's tenants," explained Dorothy. "But of course I did not know that."

"Then she must have told you about it," said Cologne.

"We've heard nothing," said Dorothy, "but we expect to call there to-morrow."

"Then," said Cologne discreetly, "I can say no more."

Soon the last act was over, the orchestra struck up a popular tune, the applause was deafening, and the audience rose to leave the theatre.

"It's all over," said Ned, and then he greeted Cologne and her friend, Helen Roycroft.