Five Little Peppers Midway Part 22

"He has gone," said Phronsie; "he went home almost an hour ago."

Polly turned sharply at her. "What did he want Town Talk for?"

"He said it was big, and he asked Grandpapa if he might have it, and Grandpapa said, Yes. I don't know what he wanted it for," said Phronsie. "And he took other newspapers, too, Polly; oh! ever so many."

"Well, I don't care how many he took, nor what they were," cried Polly, "only that very identical one. O dear me! Well, I'll ask Jasper."

And rushing from the library, Phronsie following in a small panic over Polly's distress, she knocked at the door of Jasper's den, a little room in the wing, looking out on the east lawn.

"Oh! I am so glad you are here," she exclaimed as "Come in!" greeted her, and both Phronsie and she precipitated themselves with no show of ceremony, in front of his study table. "O Jasper! could you get me a copy of "Town Talk?" Jack Rutherford has gone off with ours."

"Town Talk!" repeated Jasper, raising his head from his hands to stare at her.

"Yes; Jack has taken ours off; Grandpapa gave it to him. Can you, Jasper? Will it break up your study much?" she poured out anxiously.

"No--that is--never mind," said Jasper, pushing the book away and springing from his chair. "But whatever in the world do you want that trash for?" He turned, and looked at her curiously.

"Mrs. Chatterton will let me read it to her; she said so," cried Polly, clasping her hands nervously, "but if I don't get the paper soon, why, I'm afraid she'll change her mind."

Jasper gave a low whistle as he flung himself into his coat.

"Inestimable privilege!" he exclaimed at last, tossing on his cap.

"Oh, Jasper! you are so good," cried Polly in a small rapture. "I'm so sorry to have to ask you."

"I'll go for you, Jasper," declared Phronsie; "Mamsie will let me; I almost know she will."

"No, no, Phronsie," said Jasper, as she was flying off; "it isn't any place for you to go to. I shall get one at the hotel--the Allibone.

I'll be back in a trice, Polly."

Polly went out, and sat down in one of the big oaken chairs in the hall to seize it as it came, and Phronsie deposited herself in an opposite chair, and watched Polly. And presently in came Jasper, waving the desired journal. Polly, with a beaming face, grasped it and rushed off upstairs.

"Polly," called the boy, looking after her, "it isn't too late now for you to go with them. Lucy Bennett met me at the corner and she said they will take the twelve o'clock train, instead of the eleven, and she wanted me to beg you to come."

"No, no," tossed back Polly, rushing on, "I am quite determined to stay at home." Then she went into Mrs. Chatterton's room, and closed the door. But she couldn't so easily shut out the longings that would rise in her heart for the Sat.u.r.day outing that the other girls were to have.

How lovely it would be! the run out to Silvia Horne's charming house some ten miles distant; the elegant luncheon they would have, followed by games, and a dance in the ball-room upstairs, that Silvia's older sisters used for their beautiful parties. Then the merry return before dusk, of the twelve girls, all capital friends at school! Oh--oh!

"You've been an unconscionable time," exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton in a sharp, high key, "just to get a paper. Well, do sit down; I am quite tired waiting for you."

Polly sat down, and resolutely plunged into the column where the news items promised the most plentiful yield but in between the lines ran the doings of the girls: how they were all a.s.sembling by this time at Lucy Bennett's; how they were hurrying off to the train, and all the other delightful movements of the "outing" flashed before her eyes, as she finished item after item of her dreary task. But how Mrs.

Chatterton gloated over it!

At last Polly, feeling as if she could not endure another five minutes of it, glanced up to see the old lady's eyes actually sparkling; her mouth had fallen into contented curves, and the jeweled hand resting on the chair-arm was playing with the fringe, while she leaned forward that she might not lose a word.

"Read that again, Polly," she said, "the list of presents exhibited at Arabella Granger's wedding. I didn't hear any mention of the Archibalds. It can't be that they have fallen out; and read more slowly."

So Polly began once more the long lists of gifts that ushered in the matrimonial happiness of Mrs. John Westover nee Miss Arabella Granger; this time, however, stimulated by the pleasure she was giving, to find it an endurable task.

It seemed to Polly as if Mrs. John Westover had everything on earth given to her that could possibly be presented at a wedding; nevertheless the list was gone through again bravely, Polly retracing her steps two or three times to read the items over for her listener's slow digestion.

"The Archibalds are not mentioned, either as being there or sending a gift, nor the Harlands, nor the Smythes, so I am very glad I didn't remember her," said Mrs. Chatterton, drawing herself up with a relieved sigh. "Those presents sound fine on paper, but it isn't as well as she might have done if she had made a different match. Now something else, Polly," and she dismissed Mrs. Westover with a careless wave of her hand. Polly flew off into the fashion hints, and was immediately lost in the whirl of coming toilets. No one noticed when the door opened, so of course no one saw Mrs. Whitney standing smiling behind the old lady's big chair.

"Well, Polly," said a pleasant voice suddenly.

Down went Town Talk to the floor as Polly sprang up with a glad cry, and Mrs. Chatterton turned around nervously.

"Oh, Auntie--Auntie!" cried Polly, convulsively clinging to her, "are you really here, and is d.i.c.ky home?"

"Dear child," said Mrs. Whitney, as much a girl for the moment as Polly herself. And pressing kisses on the red lips, while she folded her close--"Yes, d.i.c.k is at home. There, go and find him; he is in Mrs.

Pepper's room."

"I am glad to see you so much better, Mrs. Chatterton," said Mrs.

Whitney, leaning over the invalid's chair to lay the tenderest of palms on the hand resting on the chair-arm.

"Oh, yes, Marian; I am better," said Mrs. Chatterton, looking around for Polly, then down at the delicious Town Talk carelessly thrown on the floor. "Will you send her back as soon as possible?" she asked with her old imperativeness.

"Who--Polly?" said Mrs. Whitney, following the glance. "Why, she has gone to see d.i.c.k, you know. Now, why cannot I read a bit?" and she picked up the paper.

"You don't know what has been read," said Mrs. Chatterton as Mrs.

Whitney drew up a chair and sat down, running her eye in a practiced way over the front page. "Dear me, it makes me quite nervous, Marian, to see you prowling around all over the sheet that way."

"Oh! I shall find something interesting quite soon, I fancy," said Mrs.

Whitney cheerfully, her heart on her boy and the jolly home-coming he was having. "Here is the Washington news; I mean all about the receptions and teas."

"She has read that," said Mrs. Chatterton.

"Now for the fashion department." Mrs. Whitney whirled the paper over dexterously. "Do you know, Mrs. Chatterton, gray stuffs are to be worn more than ever this spring?"

"I don't care about that," said Mrs. Chatterton quickly, "and besides, quite likely there'll be a complete revolution before spring really sets in, and gray stuffs will go out. Find some description of tea gowns, can't you? I must have one or two more."

"And here are some wonderfully pretty caps, if they are all like the descriptions," said Mrs. Whitney, unluckily dropping on another paragraph.

"Caps! who wants to hear about them?" cried Mrs. Chatterton in a dudgeon. "I hope I'm not at the cap period yet."

"Oh! those lovely little lace arrangements," said Mrs. Whitney hastily; "don't you know how exquisite they are at Pinaud's?" she cried.

"I'm sure I never noticed," said Mrs. Chatterton indifferently.

"Hortense always arranges my hair better without lace. If you can't find what I ask you, Marian," raising her voice to a higher key, "you needn't trouble to read at all."

Fortunately the description of the gown worn by Lady Hartly Cavendish at a London high tea, stood out in bold relief, as Mrs. Whitney's eyes nervously ran over the columns again, and she seized upon it.

But in just two moments she was interrupted. "Send that girl back again, Marian," cried Mrs. Chatterton. "I had just got her trained so that she suits me. It tires me to death to hear you."

"I do not know whether Polly can come now," said Mrs. Whitney gently; "she"--

"Do not know whether Polly can come!" repeated Mrs. Chatterton sharply, and leaning forward in her chair. "Didn't I say I wanted her?"

"You did." Marian's tone did not lose a note of its ordinary gentleness. "But I shall ask her if she is willing to do it as a favor, Mrs. Chatterton; you quite understand that, of course?" She, too, leaned forward in her chair, and gazed into the cold, hard face.