Peggy Raymond's Vacation Part 22

"I'll be there too, honey, and with the stage driver listening to every word, we can't talk about anything except the scenery. Please come, Priscilla. Don't give her any excuse for thinking that you haven't done everything that could possibly be expected of you."

Accordingly, the stage calling the next morning found three pa.s.sengers awaiting its arrival, and the keenly observant driver, who occasionally turned his head, and proffered an observation, in case the conversation languished, must have formed an entirely new conception of girls of seventeen. Had they all been seventy, and the merest acquaintances, they could not have treated one another with more precise politeness, nor have conversed with greater decorum. Altogether, Priscilla had some show of reason for referring later to the drive as "ghastly." Unluckily, Claire's train was thirty minutes late, and the tension was accordingly prolonged for that length of time. As Peggy attempted to make conversation out of such material as the weather and the time Claire would reach home, Priscilla was reflecting that if she were obliged to wait much longer she would disgrace herself either by laughing or by crying, or by indulging in both diversions at one and the same moment.

But the whistle sounded in time to save Priscilla's hardly tried self-control. The girls shook hands primly. Peggy and Priscilla wished Claire a pleasant journey. Claire replied by effusive thanks. At length, to the relief of all three, she handed her suitcase to an obsequious porter and stepped aboard the Pullman.

"Now be ready," Peggy cried, clutching Priscilla's arm. "Wave your hand if she looks out." But Claire did not deign so much as a glance at her late companions, and the train which bore her out of the heart of the green hills, carried her forever out of the lives of the two who watched her departure.

The girls seated themselves on one of the station benches to await Elaine's train. Peggy was a little sober, for unjustified as she knew Claire's suspicions to be, she could not help asking herself how it was that she had gained so little of Claire's confidence in a summer's a.s.sociation. And Priscilla's face, too, was overcast, but for a different reason.

"Peggy," she exclaimed abruptly, "do you know I feel as if I'd been looking at myself in the mirror."

"Then you ought to feel more cheerful than you look," returned Peggy with a sweeping glance, and a smile, designed to express her conviction that Priscilla was an unusually handsome girl.

But Priscilla was not to be turned aside by the little compliment. "It isn't any reason to be cheerful. I mean, Peggy, that this affair with Claire has just helped to show me what I'm like myself."

Peggy broke into excited protests, to which Priscilla listened unmoved.

"It's exactly the same thing. I've been jealous of Elaine in just the same way she has been jealous of you. And both of us called it love, when all the time it was just the meanest kind of selfishness. I wonder why it is that your faults never look very bad till you see them in somebody else."

"If you imagine that you're like Claire Fendall," interjected Peggy, seething with indignation, "you're badly mistaken, that's all."

But glad as Priscilla would have been to accept the comforting a.s.surance she shook her head with decision. "It's exactly the same thing," she insisted. "But I really hope--Why, Peggy, what's the matter?"

If Peggy's convulsive movement had not been sufficient to account for the startled question, the expression of her face was abundant ground for the inquiry. "Why, Peggy," Priscilla repeated in real consternation, "what is it? What has happened?"

"I never thought of it till this minute. She's spoiled everything."

"Who? Claire? What has she spoiled?"

"Our play," groaned Peggy. "It comes off on Tuesday, and has been advertised in the last three issues of the _Arena_. We can't possibly find anybody to take her place. What are we going to do?"

"Dorothea Clarke played it last June. Why not telegraph for her to come up. We just can't have a fizzle at the last minute."

"Why, Dolly Clarke is in California! Somebody spoke of it in a letter only last week." Peggy groaned again. "I wonder if Claire didn't think that her going would spoil everything. Or if she just didn't care."

Priscilla was inclined to favor the latter hypothesis, yet even in her resentment she realized that any amount of criticism of Claire would not save the situation. Vainly the girls grappled with the problem, to end by looking at each other despairingly.

When Elaine stepped off the train at eleven o'clock she was immediately conscious of missing something in her welcome. It was not that Peggy did not seem glad to see her, for the steadfast eyes that met her own were beaming with affection. Priscilla too was unusually cordial. And yet Elaine missed something, the spontaneous overflowing of light hearts.

"What is it?" she asked, looking from one to the other, as the stage driver went for her little trunk. "Is anybody ill? Is anything wrong?

Somehow you look--"

Peggy and Priscilla exchanged glances. Peggy laughed.

"We might as well tell her now as later. Perhaps when that's off our minds, we'll be able to think of something else. You know, I wrote you about the benefit we got up for Lucy Haines."

"Yes, I know."

"Well, we're going to give the little farce we learned for commencement week. It happened that we four girls took all the princ.i.p.al parts but one, and Claire Fendall agreed to take that. You were at one of our rehearsals last spring, weren't you? Well, this was Adelaide's part."

"Yes, I remember. The girl who was always losing her temper over things."

"Well, unluckily, Claire lost her temper over something, and went home just an hour ago. And the play is for Tuesday night. We can't possibly postpone it, because there is no way of getting word to the people. The paper only comes out once a week. Did you ever hear of anything so dreadful?"

Elaine was musing. "If I remember, it isn't such a very long part."

"Why, it isn't as long as Priscilla's or mine, but Adelaide is one of the leading characters. She couldn't possibly be left out."

"I didn't mean that. I was only going to suggest--" Elaine hesitated, with a little of her old-time shyness. "I was only going to say that if you couldn't do any better, I'd take the part."

"Take the part?" Peggy looked at her friend in an amazement which temporarily obscured her grat.i.tude. "But we give the thing Tuesday night."

"Yes, I know." Elaine smiled a little at the conflict of hope and incredulity written on Peggy's expressive face. "But I really have a very quick memory, Peggy, though I don't retain things as long as lots of other people. And before I came to Friendly Terrace I took part in school theatricals quite often. I can't promise to distinguish myself, but I'm sure I can get through the part and save the day."

And then, to Elaine's secret amazement, it was Priscilla's arm that went about her waist, and Priscilla's voice that cried, with a thrill of sincerity there was no mistaking:

"Oh, Peggy, isn't it splendid to have her here?"

CHAPTER XVI

PEGGY MAKES A SPEECH

The great occasion was at hand. a.s.sisted by Joe and Jerry, the girls had spent most of the day in the schoolhouse, with results that surprised themselves. The platform had been slightly enlarged, to meet the exigencies of a dramatic representation. Curtains of various colors and material provided dressing-rooms for the actors, on either side of the stage. A screen brought from Dolittle Cottage hid from view the blackboards back of the spot usually occupied by the teacher's desk. A rug covered the pine boards of the platform, while a few chairs, a small table and a fern in a bra.s.s jardinier produced the homelike effect the girls were after. Jerry was immensely proud of the curtain, which, thanks to the pulleys he had arranged, worked as smoothly as if it had been a professional curtain, instead of belonging strictly to the amateur cla.s.s. Peggy suspected that down in his heart Jerry believed that curtain to be the most important and appealing feature of the prospective entertainment.

While the girls labored at the schoolhouse, Elaine sat on the porch of Dolittle Cottage, and studied her part with such fixed attention as to be completely oblivious to the charm of her surroundings. When Peggy came hurrying home to look after the dinner she groaned self-reproachfully at the sight of Elaine's furrowed brow, and silently moving lips.

"It's a perfect shame! You came up here for a rest, and the first thing we do is to set you to work--and such hard work."

"Two days of it won't hurt me," Elaine returned buoyantly. "And you know, Peggy, I'm ever so glad to help out." But it was quite unlikely that Peggy realized the satisfaction Elaine experienced in the knowledge that her opportune arrival meant the success of Peggy's scheme. Elaine had a deep-rooted antipathy to being under obligations, a characteristic which has its root in wholesome independence, though it may easily be carried too far. Nothing could have promised better for her enjoyment of her little holiday than this unexpected opportunity to turn the tables on her hostesses, and become the benefactor.

Although two days seemed a very short time for mastering her part, Elaine felt confident that she would make no serious slip. Her memory was quick, and responded to the spur of necessity. If her attention wandered even for a minute, she caught herself up, realizing how much depended on her application. Luckily the _role_ appealed to her, and for that reason was more readily memorized. Though she had prefaced her offer with the a.s.surance that she should not distinguish herself in the part, she began to be hopeful that she would be able to do more than repeat the lines mechanically.

As the critical hour approached, Elaine was perhaps the least nervous of any of the household, and she gleaned more than a little amus.e.m.e.nt from the efforts of the others to rea.s.sure her. "You know I'll be right there with the book," said Aunt Abigail, who had accepted the important post of official prompter. "So it won't be a serious matter if you forget."

The others had similar encouragement to offer, some of it mingled with good counsel. "Don't lose your head if you get tangled up," Peggy warned her. "Because the rest of us know our parts perfectly, and we can go on with it, even if something is left out." And Elaine, while agreeing not to lose her head, promised herself the satisfaction of surprising the doubters.

Early as the girls reached the schoolhouse, they were not the first arrivals. Farmer Cole's Joe, transformed almost beyond recognition, by what he would have designated as a "boiled shirt" and a high collar, had already quite a little pile of tickets and silver ranged on the table before him. Jerry and his orchestra were in their places. Jerry's hand-painted necktie was, of course, in evidence, while the pointed shoes creaked whenever he moved, as if in protest against the exacting service that was being required of them at their time of life. The Dolittle Cottage girls hurried past the observant eyes, and in the improvised dressing-rooms found Lucy and Rosetta Muriel awaiting them.

Resentfully Rosetta Muriel had dressed according to Peggy's specifications, black dress and ruffled white ap.r.o.n, with a jaunty cap perched on her fair hair. Then she had viewed herself in the mirror and had experienced the surprise of her life.

"Why, I look real pretty!" exclaimed Rosetta Muriel staring, but there was no vanity in the observation. Rosetta Muriel announced it as a scientist would proclaim the news of some discovery in physics. She tested the accuracy of her impression by the help of a hand-mirror. She had not been mistaken. "I really look pretty," repeated Rosetta Muriel, and, for the first time in her life, realized the aesthetic possibilities of simplicity.

Her lingering grudge against Peggy in part dissipated by her scientific discovery, vanished completely when Peggy removed the rain-coat and the heavy veil which had obscured her charms. Peggy's make-up was very successful in effacing every suggestion of youth and girlish prettiness.

Artistically designed wrinkles made her look seventy-five at the least computation, and suggested in addition, a quarrelsome disposition.

Rosetta Muriel took one look, and gave way to giggles.

"My goodness, but you _are_ a sight," said Rosetta Muriel, entirely forgiving Peggy for the prohibition of the apple-green silk. "Is that a wig you've got on?"