Marian Kent Hurd

“CÆsar himself could never say
He got two victories in one day.”

DO you know, Ted," said Miss Billy, as they took their way to school together one morning in late September, "this air makes me feel like cutting civilisation entirely and taking to the wide prairies, where I can stick feathers in my hair, ride a bare-backed pony, and never hear another dreary platitude of Pope or Dryden's nor bother my head about the difference between the hieroglyphic and the hierotic characters on the Egyptian obelisks."

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised at anything you might do," said Theodore, "and I know it would be done exhaustively. But what's the matter with school? I thought you liked it."

"Oh, it's not school, altogether. It's everything. It's life,—civilised life,—with all its little petty trials and meannesses. Now here is Miss Peabody's school that we have to pass,—the hall of the select and the home of the cultured,—an Eden from which I have been driven, to judge from the manner of some of the girls when I go by. Of course, I could go round the other way, but I just won't! I march past with my head up and my colours flying,—they give me the iciest bows,—I return them a mere sweep of my eyelashes,—and the thing is over for the day. But it rankles and hurts, and makes me miserable in spite of myself."

"I have been enduring that sort of thing for two months," said Theodore. "I am becoming cheerfully resigned to it. Whenever I meet those girls in a crowd together, they have an interesting letter to bend their heads over, or something of that kind, and at the very last moment one or two will look up and give me a half-frightened bow, and I raise my hat with dignity to Miss Peabody's cupola, or some other equally lofty object, and walk on. Of course, I understand Myrtle Blanchard is at the bottom of it all. She's paying back an old score."

Miss Peabody's Select Seminary for Young Ladies, which they were approaching, was a handsome building in grey stone, with an imposing iron fence, and a square of well-kept lawn strewn with garden seats, on which "the select" were even now gathered. Miss Myrtle Blanchard was there, and as she saw Miss Billy and Theodore coming, she rose, in company with two other of the most popular girls, and advanced to the gate.

"You don't suppose they are meaning to speak to us," gasped Miss Billy in amazement. "Why, those three girls have been the ringleaders of the whole thing!"

Evidently the young ladies did mean to speak to them. They advanced with outstretched hands, and Miss Myrtle hooked on to Miss Billy's arm, while the other two engaged Theodore.

"Why in the world don't you ever come to see me," said Miss Myrtle, with an expostulatory little shake. "But there,—I know the reason. You are so carried away with Cherry Street that you haven't a thought for old friends! Oh, I know all about it, Miss Billy.—You needn't deny it! I've heard all about your Improvement Club, and the social you gave, and everything. Maude and Blanche wrote in their last London letter that slumming was more fashionable than ever, there."

"Yes?" said Miss Billy, looking meaningly at Theodore,—but Miss Myrtle was not to be so lightly shaken off.

"Margaret Van Courtland tells me she is a member of your Club,—and that elegant young college man, Mr. Lindsay, too, that the girls are raving over. Why didn't you let me know about it this summer? I've been just aching to help somebody. I want you to put my name down right away for membership. Maude and Blanche will want to join when they come, I know. They'll love to belong to anything Margaret Van Courtland is connected with. They just adore her,—and they'll enjoy slumming."

"It isn't slumming," said Miss Billy, with repressed indignation. "It's just a little neighbourhood affair, and we are all on perfectly equal terms."

"Call it what you will, only let me belong! Remember now,—you've promised!" And with a final squeeze to the imprisoned arm, and a brilliant smile for Theodore, Miss Myrtle and her companions happily retraced their steps to the sacred confines of the Seminary.

"Hold me up till my shattered nerves are restored," murmured Theodore. "They almost ate me up!"

"Miss Myrtle has an axe to grind, but she shall not grind it on my grindstone," said Miss Billy resolutely. "She has a misty idea that I've become fashionable and quite the thing, and that she's not in it. She called our Improvement work 'slumming,' and wants to join our club. Imagine her condescending to Mr. Hennesy, or Marie Jean, or Mr. Schultzsky, or in short, any of them! And yet, Theodore, I'm such a miserably weak character, I couldn't help being glad I had on my real lace collar when she was talking to me."

"Well," said Theodore, "the tables have at last turned,—and strangely enough, through our friends in Cherry Street. You wakened, as it were, to find yourself famous, Miss Billy."

"Nonsense!" said Miss Billy. "I gave her distinctly to understand that every member of the Improvement Club was a friend of mine,—but of course she is too shallow to understand it. Still, our relations with many of the girls will be less strained now, because of her friendliness, and that is something to be thankful for."

The Blanchard trap stood at the door of the High School that afternoon, when school was dismissed. Miss Myrtle herself, in a natty green coat with a scarlet collar, and a red Tam o' Shanter, sat high on the box with the reins in her hands.

"I have come for you both, to drive," she smiled. "This is our new trap. Don't you admire the red paint and the shining wheels? I know, now we have it, I shall bore you with attentions, but I don't expect to take 'no' for an answer."

"Ted," murmured Miss Billy, "I shall have to feed you to the lions. Providentially, here is Margaret with her cart to take me."

"I refuse to be fed," said Theodore firmly. "I've got to go up town and order some things for mother. Get into the trap yourself,—and I'll go with Margaret."

So Miss Billy was obliged to climb into the seat beside Miss Myrtle, while Theodore, winding his long legs into the cart, took the reins from Margaret's hand and with a sharp click to Patsy was off without a backward glance.

Margaret laughed. "Ted, you grow more like Billy every day. You have the same way of waving the American flag, and reading the Declaration of Independence, and having your rights. Now, don't go on disliking Myrtle. For one thing, it's too much trouble. If you think of her at all, think of her kindly, and, with a little practice, life will be a summer sea."

"No, sir!" said Theodore, flecking a fly off Patsy's back with the whip. "When people stand on my corns, I propose to let them know it. I found out who my friends were when I drove Mr. Hennesy's mules. It was perfectly honourable work, you know, but not elegant. A fellow's better off without fine-feather friends. He has the courage, then, to be what he is,—and stands a better chance of amounting to something."

"Well, I dare say you are right," said Margaret, "and if you are not,—it would be impossible to make either you or Billy over, so what's the use of arguing? Here is Brown's drug store. Will you step out and give them this bottle, Ted? It will take some time to put up the prescription, so tell them they may deliver it."

Theodore's face changed. He was on the point of saying, "I don't go to Brown's,"—but he would a little rather Margaret should not know that story. After all, why should he not go? It certainly would not improve Mr. Brown's opinion of his character if he avoided the place. He gave the reins into Margaret's hand, took the bottle and disappeared into the store.

There were two or three customers being waited upon,—the clerks were in their usual places,—Mr. Brown was at the desk. He took the bottle to the prescription clerk. "When it is ready, send it up to Mr. Van Courtland's," he said, and was turning away when Mr. Brown called him.

"I have a letter here for you," he said, fumbling among the papers on his desk, "that I had just written and was about to send. Yes,—this is it,—merely asking you to call at the store." He opened the money drawer, took out five dollars, and shoved it toward Theodore. "Mrs. Thorpe found that bill a few days after you were there. It had slipped under the lining of her purse. She has been away all summer, so she only had an opportunity of returning it to me a day or two ago."

Mr. Brown was returning to his books, and Theodore took the bill with heightened colour. "I hope, sir," he said, "that this entirely establishes my honesty in your mind?"

"I never doubted it," said Mr. Brown. "You took the affair a little too hard. Remember, you discharged yourself. If you should want your job back again next Spring, I'll try to let you have it. I don't think you will ever lose another bill."

"Thank you, sir," said Theodore, and passed out. He sprang into the cart beside Margaret, and gave the astonished Patsy a vigourous slap with the lines.

"Why, what's the matter?" said Margaret. "Your eyes are as shiny, and your cheeks as red——"

"I don't mind telling you the story now," said Theodore. "I went into that store wearing convict's stripes, figuratively speaking, and I've come out without 'em. My character is cleared, but I've a notion it will take some time for my shaved hair and my self-respect to grow again."