The Camp Fire Girls' Careers Part 12

Polly was wearing a pale pink dressing jacket trimmed with a great deal of lace and evidently quite new. Indeed it had been purchased with the idea of celebrating this great occasion. The girl's cheeks were as crimson as they had been on the stage the night before and her eyes were as shining. She was talking with great rapidity and excitement.

"Yes, it is perfectly thrilling and delightful, Mollie Mavourneen, and I never was so happy in my life, now that you know all about me and are not really angry," Polly exclaimed gayly. "But I can tell you it wasn't all honey and roses last winter, working all alone and being lonely and homesick and miserable most of the time. No one praised me or sent me flowers then," and the girl looked with perfectly natural vanity and satisfaction at the big box of roses that had just been opened and was still lying on her lap. On her bureau there were vases of fresh flowers and several other boxes on a nearby table.

"Well, it must be worth any amount of hard work and unhappiness to be so popular and famous," Mollie murmured, glancing with heartfelt admiration and yet with a little wistfulness at her twin sister. "Just think, Polly dear, we are exactly the same age and used to do almost the same things; and now you are a celebrated actress and I'm just n.o.body at all. I am sorry I used to be so opposed to your going on the stage. I think it perfectly splendid now."

With a laugh that had a slight quaver in it Polly threw an arm about her sister and hugged her close. "You silly darling, how you have always flattered me and how dearly I do love it!" she returned, looking with equal admiration at the soft roundness of Mollie's girlish figure and the pretty dimples in her delicately pink cheeks. "I am not a celebrated actress in the least, sister of mine, just because I have succeeded in doing one little character part so that a few people, just a few people, like it. I do wonder what Margaret Adams thought of me. She did not say much last night. She is coming to see me presently, so I am desperately nervous over what she will say. One swallow does not make a career any more than it makes a summer. And as for daring to say you are n.o.body, Mollie O'Neill, I never heard such arrant nonsense in my life. For you know perfectly well that you are a thousand times prettier, more charming and more popular than I am, and everybody knows it except you.

But, of course, you never have believed it in your life, you blessed little goose!" and Polly pinched her sister's soft arm appreciatively.

"I wish there was as much of me as there is of you for one thing, Mollie darling, your figure is a perfect dream and I'm nothing in the world but skin and bones," Polly finished at last, drawing her dressing jacket more closely about her with a barely concealed shiver.

From the foot of the bed Sylvia was eyeing her severely. "Yes, we had already noticed that without your mentioning it, Polly," she remarked dryly.

Her only answer was a careless shrugging of her thin shoulders, as Polly turned this time toward Betty.

"What makes you so silent, Princess? You are not vexed with me and only said you were not angry last night to spare my feelings?" Polly asked more seriously than she had yet spoken. Even though Polly might believe that she loved her sister better, yet she realized that they could never so completely understand each other and never have perhaps quite the same degree of spiritual intimacy as she had with her friend.

Betty took Polly's outstretched hand and held it lightly.

"I was only thinking of something; I beg your pardon, dear," Betty replied quietly.

Polly frowned. "You are not to think of anything or anybody except me today," she demanded jealously. "You have had months and months to think about other people. This is the best of what I have been working for-just to have you girls with me like this, and have you praise me and make love to me as Mollie did. Yes, I understand I am being desperately vain and self-centered, Princess; so you may think it your duty to take me to task for it. But it is only because I have always been such a dreadful black sheep among all the other Camp Fire girls. Then I suppose it is also because we have been separated so long. Pretty soon I'll have to go back to the work-a-day, critical old world where n.o.body really cares a thing about me and where 'my career,' as Mollie calls it, has scarcely begun. But please don't make me do all the talking, Betty, it is so unlike me and I can see that Sylvia thinks I am saying far too much." Here Polly's apparently endless stream of conversation was interrupted by a fit of coughing, which took all the color from her cheeks, brought there by the morning's excitement, and left her huddled up among her pillows pale and breathless, with Sylvia's light blue eyes staring at her with a somewhat enigmatic expression.

Betty smiled, however, pulling at one of the long braids of black hair with some severity. Last night it had seemed to her that Polly O'Neill was quite the most wonderful person in the world and that she could never feel exactly the same toward her, but must surely treat her with entirely new reverence and respect. Yet here she was, just as absurd and childish as ever and pleading for compliments as a child for sweets. No one could treat Polly O'Neill with great respect, though love her one must to the end of the chapter. She had a thousand faults, yet Betty knew that vanity was not one of them. It was simply because of her affection for her friends that she wished to find them pleased with her.

In her heart of hearts no one was humbler than Polly. Betty at least understood that her ambition would never leave her satisfied with one success.

"But I was thinking of you, my ridiculous Polly!" Betty answered finally. "I regret to state, however, that I was not for the moment dwelling on your great and glorious career. Naturally no other Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girl may ever hope to aspire so high. I was wondering whether your mother allowed you to wander around by yourself last winter, and, if she did, how you ever managed to take proper care of yourself."

"Dear me, hasn't mother told you? Why of course I had a chaperon, child!

Mollie, please ring the bell for me. She is a dear and is dreadfully anxious to meet all of you," Polly explained. "But Sylvia took care of me too-would you mind not staring at me quite so hard all the time, Sylvia? I know I am better looking behind the footlights," Polly now urged almost plaintively, for her younger sister was making her decidedly nervous by her continued scrutiny. "Betty, even you will hardly place me at the head of the theatrical profession at present,"

she continued. "Though I am quite green with jealousy, I must tell you that Sylvia Wharton has stood at the head of her cla.s.s in medicine, male and female, during this entire year and is confidently expected to come out first in her final examinations. I am abominably afraid that Sylvia may develop into a more distinguished Camp Fire girl in the end than I ever shall."

There was no further opportunity at present for further personal discussion, for at this instant a tall, dark-haired woman with somewhat timid manners entered the room, where she stood hesitating, glancing from one girl's face to the other.

"You know Sylvia, Mrs. Martins, so this is Mollie, whom you may recognize as being a good-looking likeness of me," Polly began. "Of course this third person is necessarily Betty Ashton."

From her place on the bed Sylvia had smiled her greeting, but Mollie and Betty of course got up at once and walked forward to shake hands with the newcomer.

Then unexpectedly and to Betty's immense surprise, she found both of her hands immediately clasped in an ardent embrace by the stranger, while the woman gazed at her with her lips trembling and the tears streaming unchecked down her face.

"How shall I ever thank you or make you understand?" she said pa.s.sionately. "All my life long I can never repay what you have done for me, but at least I shall never forget it."

Betty pressed the newcomer's hand politely, turning from her to Polly, hoping that she might in her friend's expression find some clue to this puzzling utterance. Polly appeared just as rapt and mysterious.

"You are awfully kind and I am most happy to meet you," Betty felt called on to reply, "but I am afraid you must have mistaken me for some one else. It is I who owe grat.i.tude to you for having taken such good care of Polly."

The Princess was gracious and sweet in her manner, but she could hardly be expected not to have drawn back slightly from such an extraordinary greeting from a stranger.

"Oh, my dear, I ought to have explained to you. You must forgive me, it is because I feel so deeply and that the people of my race cannot always control their emotions so readily," the older woman protested. "It is my little girl, for whom you have done such wonderful things. She has written me that she is almost happy now that you have become her fairy princess. And in truth you are quite lovely enough," the stranger continued, believing that at last she was making herself clear.

"I? Your little girl?" Betty repeated stupidly. "You don't mean you are Angelique's mother? But of course you are. Now I can see that you look like each other and your name is 'Martins.' It is curious, but I paid no attention to your name at first and never a.s.sociated you with my little French girl." Now it was Betty's turn to find her voice shaking, partly from pleasure and also from embarra.s.sment. "It was a beautiful accident, wasn't it, for Angelique and I, and you and Polly to find each other?

But you have nothing to thank me for, Mrs. Martins. Angel has given me more pleasure than I can ever give her. She has been so wonderful since she found something in life to interest her. Won't you come to the cabin with me right away and see her? Mollie and Mrs. Wharton can surely look after Polly for a few days; besides she never does what any one tells her."

Suddenly Betty let go her companion's hand, swinging around toward the elfish figure in the bed. For Polly did look elfish at this moment, with her knees huddled up almost to her chin and her head resting on her hand. Her eyes were almost all one could see of her face at present, they looked so absurdly large and so darkly blue.

Betty seized the girl by both shoulders, giving her a tiny shake.

"Polly O'Neill, did you write me those anonymous letters about Angel last winter? Oh, of course you did! But what a queer muddle it all is! I don't understand, for Angel told me that she had never heard of Polly O'Neill in her entire life until I spoke of you."

"And no more she has, Princess," returned Polly smiling. "Everybody sit down and be good, please, while I explain things as far as I understand them. You see Mrs. Martins and I met each other at the theater one evening where she had come to do some wonderful sewing for some one.

Well, of course my clothes were in rags, for with all our Camp Fire training I never learned much about the gentle art of st.i.tching. So Mrs.

Martins promised to do some work for me and by and by we got to knowing each other pretty well. One day I found her crying, and then she told me about her little girl. A friend had offered to send Angelique to this hospital in Boston and Mrs. Martins felt she must let her go, as she could not make enough money to keep them comfortable. Besides Angelique needed special care and treatment. Of course she realized it was best for her little girl, yet they were horribly grieved over being separated.

"Just at this time, Miss Brown, whom mother had persuaded to travel with me all winter, got terribly tired of her job. So I asked Mrs. Martins if she cared to come with me. When she and mother learned to know and like each other things were arranged.

"Afterwards the heavenly powers must have sent you to that hospital, Betty dear, otherwise there is no accounting for it. Pretty soon after your first visit Angel wrote her mother describing a lovely lady with auburn hair, gray eyes and the most charming manner in the world, who had been to the hospital to see them, but had only said a few words to her. Yes, I know you think that is queer, Betty, but please remember that though Angelique knew her mother was traveling with an eccentric young female, she did not know my real name. I was Peggy Moore to her always, just as I was to you until last night. Can't you understand? Of course I knew you were in Boston with Esther and d.i.c.k, and besides there could be only one Betty Ashton in the world answering to your description. Then, of course, Mrs. Martins and I both wanted to write and explain things to you dreadfully, yet at the same time I did not wish you to guess where I was or what I was doing. So I persuaded Mrs.

Martins to wait; at the same time I did write you these silly anonymous letters, for I was so anxious for you to be particularly interested in Angel. I might have known you would have been anyway, you dearest of princesses and best," whispered Polly so earnestly that Betty drew away from her friend's embrace, her cheeks scarlet.

"I am going to another room with Mrs. Martins to have a long talk, Polly, while you rest," Betty answered the next moment. "Mrs. Wharton said that we were not to stay with you but an hour and a half and it has been two already. You will want to be at your best when Margaret Adams comes to see you this afternoon."

"If you mean in the best of health, Betty," Sylvia remarked at this instant, as she got down somewhat awkwardly from her seat on the bed, "then I might as well tell you that Polly O'Neill is far from being even ordinarily well. She has not been well all winter; but now, with the excitement and strain of her first success, she is utterly used up. All I can say is that if she does not quit this acting business and go somewhere and have a real rest, well, we shall all be sorry some day,"

and with this unexpected announcement Sylvia stalked calmly out of the room, leaving three rather frightened women and one exceedingly angry one behind her.

CHAPTER XVIII-Home Again

"But, my beloved mother, you really can't expect such a sacrifice of me.

There isn't anything else in the world you could ask that I would not agree to, but even you must see that this is out of the question."

It was several days later and Polly was in her small sitting room with her mother and Sylvia.

"Besides it is absurd and wicked of Sylvia to have frightened you so and I shan't forgive her, even if she has been good as gold to me all her life. How can I give up my part and go away from New York just when I am beginning to be a tiny bit successful?" Then, overcome with sympathy for herself, Polly cast herself down in a heap upon a small sofa and with her face buried in the sofa cushions burst into tears.

Mrs. Wharton walked nervously up and down the room.

"I know it is dreadfully hard for you, dear, and I do realize how much I am asking, even if you don't think so, Polly," she replied. "Besides you must not be angry with Sylvia. Of course I have not taken the child's opinion alone, clever as she is. Two physicians have seen you in the last few days, as you know, and they have both given me the same opinion. You are on the verge of a nervous breakdown. If you will give up now it may not be serious, but if you will insist upon going on with your work no one will answer for the consequences. It is only a matter of a few weeks, my dear. I have seen your manager and he is willing to agree to your stopping as long as it is absolutely necessary. Perhaps you may be well enough to start in again in the fall. Isn't it wiser to stop now for a short rest than to have to give up altogether later on?"

she urged consolingly.

As there was no answer from Polly, Mrs. Wharton's own eyes also filled with tears. At the same moment Sylvia came up to her step-mother and patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. It was odd, but Sylvia rarely expressed affection by kissing or the embraces common among most girls.

Yet in her somewhat shy caresses there was fully as deep feeling.

"Don't worry, mother, things will turn out all right," she now said rea.s.suringly. "Of course it is pretty hard on Polly. Even I appreciate that. But it is silly of her to protest against the inevitable. She will save herself a lot of strength if she only finds that out some day. But I'll leave you together, since my being here only makes her more obstinate than ever."

As Sylvia was crossing the floor a sofa cushion was thrown violently at her from the apparently grief-stricken figure on the sofa. But while Mrs. Wharton looked both grieved and shocked Sylvia only laughed. Was there ever such another girl as her step-sister? Here she was at one instant weeping bitterly at the wrecking of her career, as she thought, and the next shying sofa cushions like a naughty child.

Once Sylvia was safely out of the way, Polly again sat upright on the sofa, drawing her mother down beside her. It was just as well that Sylvia had departed, for she was the one person in the world whom Polly had never been able to influence, or turn from her own point of view, by any amount of argument or persuasion. With her mother alone her task would be easier. Nevertheless Mrs. Wharton appeared singularly determined and Polly remembered that there had been occasions when her mother's decision must be obeyed.