Delphi Complete Works of Booth Tarkington (Illustrated), page 656
Kate said yes, though she wished she weren’t always acquiescent with Laila, and she knew very well how Laila “worked” her. A lithe marvel in the dancing class and a flashing, whooping belle at parties where boys were, Laila in school was dumbest of the dumb and couldn’t have remained if her small neighbor across the street hadn’t coached her.
Kate, wondering why, did most of the “home school work” for both of them and continued to do it, although other franknesses of Laila’s even less enjoyable than those of that morning’s walk to school were often upon the older girl’s lips. What thinking Laila did was mostly aloud, mainly about boys, and, though she had her secrets, her talk sometimes gave glimpses of doings that Kate preferred should remain but glimpses. She did not lack curiosity; but she desired not to know the secretest parts of Laila’s secrets and Kate was, herself, by far the more secretive of the two. Laila couldn’t have guessed Kate’s opinion of her and had no thought at all of Kate except as somebody to talk to and to use for dreary lessons and other advantages.
The companionship of the two girls, like many another, was only geographical, caused by the location of their houses. Kate found Laila a somewhat interesting person, often unpleasantly so, but for the most part an oppression upon her.
Laila was beautiful, really beautiful everybody admitted; and, by the time she was seventeen, she had a knowing, rather mocking look when her eyes met those of men, as they always did when they had that chance. Kate’s mother naturally didn’t like this look of Laila’s and had her own definition of it.
“She’s getting so fast looking,” Mrs. Fennigate said to Kate. “Of course she would, with such a mother; but I wish you wouldn’t feel you have to be with her so much. You ought to stop being nice to her.”
“I couldn’t very easily, Mother. She’s — —”
“Oh, I know,” Mrs. Fennigate grumbled. “Always running over here, and you’ve never known how to be rude. Well-bred girls are careless nowadays; they let the common ones in and’ll get contaminated. We hear horrible rumors lately about something called petting parties — of course only among the most ordinary young people; but that’s the kind Laila’d know, outside of you and Miss Carroll’s School. I’m sure she’s the sort of girl that gets talked about, and with good reason, too! Of course she couldn’t lead you into anything really improper; but if you keep on being seen with her so much — —”
“Seen with her? I don’t think I am, Mother. Nobody ever looks at me when I’m with her.”
“No, I suppose not — on the street. Those loud ‘come hither’ girls with the long curves get all the common staring; but I do hope nice people won’t begin to think you’re much of a friend of hers. Besides her looking fast and the Cappers being very, very ordinary, it isn’t becoming to you to be with her. She already looks too grown-up and you still look like a child. I don’t mean you’re not pretty enough. Your hair’s not so flaxen as it used to be, but it’s nice and wavy, and your eyes are a nice bright brown color and you have that good profile and you’ve grown some and filled out a little, so you’re really a very good-looking young girl; but always being seen with a show piece a foot taller than you — —”
“Oh, not a whole foot, Mother. I’ve been growing a lot. I’m fully five feet and almost an inch and three-quarters already, and Laila isn’t more than — —”
“Well, I’m only warning you,” Mrs. Fennigate said, sighing with her weight of flesh. “These wretched ailments that have been gaining on me don’t give me much chance to watch over you, so all I can do is say ‘Be careful and don’t let nice people get a wrong idea of you.’ I’m sure your father’s got himself talked about, going over there as much as he always has, and I certainly don’t want anything like that to happen to you. I do wish that family had never moved into this neighborhood or that we’d never had to live here in this inconvenient cheaply built house, ourselves. Another thing, child, do try to get along with this new cook better than you did with the last one. Really, I wish you hadn’t interfered with old Editha, trying to get her to make all those things she couldn’t learn how. How many have we had since her? About seven, isn’t it? With my asthma the way it is and all this arthritis setting in, and the doctor hammer-hammer-hammering at me to diet, I’m simply not up to doing the housekeeping any more. What did you tell her to give us for dinner? Something good, I hope. You’ve been making our meals too skimpy. Whatever there is to-night, I hope for once there’ll be enough of it.”
Kate reassured her upon this point — falsely, for she was trying hard to reduce her mother’s weight. Later in the day the daughter thought seriously about the maternal warning not to be seen a great deal with Laila Capper and found something ironical in it. She was as little with Laila as she could contrive to be without open unfriendliness, and herein she recognized an inconsistency in herself, one amounting to a weakness of character. She liked to advise people deftly, also to control them by suggestion and maneuver. She was so eagerly of this type that Aunt Daisy, repetitiously prompted about a nursery governess, often asked her niece why she didn’t run for Mayor?
On the other hand, with all her managings, Kate was unable to be severe. Something within her compelled her to be almost supinely accommodating; she could neither be discourteous nor bear to disappoint anybody. Thus Laila put herself upon the small neighbor across the street, and, when the moment came, gave her a lasting hurt.
V
IT’S NOT ALWAYS a disadvantage for a girl to grow up in what’s known as “an unhappy home”. True, a whining nature may therein fall into habitual self-pity; but a good mind acquires more knowledge of the world, more experience of our human inwardness, than if sheltered within sunnier walls. A hard-drinking father pushed to pay his bills, a mother become an invalid through physical self-indulgence, and a dull ugly house never once the scene of heartfree merriment, moved young Kate Fennigate to no self-pampering. Seventeen, she had no envy of happier girls or of richer ones; she was a planner of improvements — mostly for other people. Usually the plans didn’t work very well; but some of them did and she was too shrewd to plan the impossible. She did most of Laila Capper’s school work, for instance; but didn’t waste energy trying to elevate Laila’s character.
Laila was still an oppression upon her, nevertheless so rewarding to the eye that Kate liked to look at her. For other observers the two girls, seen together, were a charming contrast — though of course a noticeable time elapsed before the glance of a passerby rested (if it did that at all) upon Laila’s demure, small companion. At eighteen Laila was blossoming indeed; her vitality made her conspicuous. She seemed radiantly always in motion, even when she sat. Her arms swept in wide gestures, her knees crossed and uncrossed, her expressive feet were seldom still, animation continually re-shaped the handsome face, her large coal-black eyes did really seem to dance; and her restless, insistent voice never stopped. Beside her, Kate Fennigate seemed almost voiceless: one was doing all the doing, the other all the thinking.
The one that did the thinking was the star of Miss Carroll’s School, an outshining lustre in the climax of the two girls’ final year, though at the senior dance, two months before Commencement, a stranger would have mistaken the class’s dunce for its prize girl, Laila’s look that night was so triumphant. She was all over the place, had to push boys away from her; her happy laughter outdid the violins, and her dancing held upon her even the unwilling eyes of other girls’ mothers.
Mrs. Fennigate’s eyes were not included; she was at home with asthma, arthritis and indigestion, and her husband, preferring even this to a school dance, had begged to remain to look after her. Aunt Daisy had said that “the family” must be represented, however; and Cousin Mary, fond of Kate, had easily persuaded Cousin Ames not to spend the evening alone in the house with Aunt Daisy, so he was there, too. They sat on the sidelines, and Cousin Mary was pleased to see that boys liked Kate and her dancing.
“You’re quite popular, dear,” the young Mrs. Lanning said, once when the schoolgirl cousin came to sit with them between dances. “You must be pretty proud to have so much attention and know that you’re going to graduate at the top of the class and get all the best prizes, too! Ames and I are quite set up, being allowed to be your chaperones. I think Ames’d like to dance with you, if you don’t mind his age.”
“His age?” Kate laughed, and her color heightened as she looked at the thin long young man. “Will you, Cousin Ames? Will you dance with me?”
“Maybe it’ll give me a reputation for learning,” he said. “I’ve been noticing the deference Miss Carroll shows you — yes, and the other teachers, too, when you’ve been talking with them. I don’t think the family have understood what a celebrity we have among us. Seems to show we don’t recognize celebrities until we see them in their own field.”
Kate gave him a serious glance. “I don’t mind your laughing at me, both of you.” She saw a boy coming toward her, rose quickly and put forth a hand. “The music’s beginning, so if you really can stand it, Cousin Ames — —”
“Stand it? Not I! You’ll have to do that.”
They began to dance, and, looking up from not quite the height of his shoulder, she saw that he was smiling indulgently. “Once you told me to ‘fat up’, Cousin Ames,” she said. “I have — some — haven’t I?”
“Yes, enough for it to be quite becoming.”
“But you haven’t,” she said. “I don’t think you eat enough and you ought to drink lots of milk. Aren’t you working too hard, too?”
“I think not harder than a clerk in a law office has to if he’s to hold his job.”
“Don’t they give you any cases yet, Cousin Ames?”
“Me?” He laughed. “They let me work up a few details sometimes.”
“But don’t they know where you stood in the Law School and what everybody said about you? It’s pretty stupid of them!”
He laughed again. “Oh, Mary and Celia and I’ll get along somehow!”
“Why, of course!” she said, and then for a while devoted herself solely to dancing.
Cousin Ames danced well, she was pleased to discover, and, in spite of the difference in height, they moved sweetly together. She became aware that his arm was about her, that his hand clasped hers, and never before had she noticed such a thing; partners’ arms and hands in dancing were technicalities. For the first time in her life they didn’t seem to be only that and she felt a startled, strange joyousness because they didn’t. Ever since she’d first seen this cousin-by-marriage, just before his and Cousin Mary’s wedding, she’d thought a great deal about him, and lately almost as much as she’d thought about her father; but suddenly now, as she danced with Ames Lanning, she thought about him much, much more poignantly than ever before. As suddenly, she thought about herself, too. If this thought about herself could have been put into words uttered by her voice, it would have been the astonished outcry: “Why, I’m happy!”
She’d never in her life asked herself the question “Am I happy?” or “Am I unhappy?” Now, all at once, she knew she was happy — because she was dancing with Ames Lanning. For the moment her thought of him left out “Cousin”; he was just Ames Lanning. Something unknown but dear and lovely was happening and nothing else had value. Her breath quickened, and, not knowing that she spoke, she said, “Oh!”
“Murder!” he exclaimed. “Did I step on you?”
“No, no, no! You dance better than anybody I’ve ever known. Do step on me!”
“What? Why?”
“I’ll keep the slipper.”
“No wonder you’re popular!” Ames laughed aloud and expressed his jocular approval in the flying twirl he gave her. “Never mind; I’m game. A cousin’s the best possible old stick for you to practise that sort of thing on.”
Kate laughed, too, a little breathlessly, glad that he took it that way. She’d spoken too quickly and without quite knowing what she said; but it was true. She would have kept the slipper, though of course it was better for him to think that she’d been joking. Why better? Why would she keep a slipper if he’d stepped on it? Why had she asked him to step on hers? What was the matter with her? Whatever it was, it was more dazing and delightful than anything that had ever happened before to anybody. She didn’t look up at his face. Her downcast eyes saw only the black cloth of his coat as they danced on.
He was speaking again, and his pleasant deep voice seemed enrichingly changed, as if she’d never heard it before. “I mustn’t monopolize you. I’m afraid I’ve noticed several hoverers trying to work through to cut in.”
“You want to stop?”
“No, no; but I’m taking too much of your gala time, and besides I’m afraid I ought to be getting Mary back home. She isn’t strong, you know, and the exertion of talking to people tires her pretty easily.”
“Oh, yes, of course; I’m very thoughtless.” She stopped dancing instantly and they began to move across the crowded floor toward Mary.
A girl’s loud laugh intruded closely upon their ears, and Laila Capper, dancing with a short boy, bumped into Ames lightly but with almost plain intention. For a moment her face, laughing and beautiful, was within an inch of his. “Good gracious!” she exclaimed. “Do pardon us!” and she swept away, still laughing.
“Who is that?” Ames asked, looking after her. “I’ve seen her before — often noticed her. Rather dashingly magnificent, isn’t she? Not one of your classmates, is she? Seems rather too grown-up, I’d say. You know her?”
“Her name’s Laila Capper.”
Kate wished that he hadn’t asked her about Laila, who of course had tried to make him notice her; but his curiosity was only momentary. Cousin Mary rose as they approached her, and she put her hand rather tiredly upon her husband’s arm. To Kate, Cousin Mary oddly looked a little changed since the beginning of that dance. There seemed to be something different about her; somehow she wasn’t quite the same Cousin Mary, and her putting her hand upon her husband’s arm in that familiar possessive way didn’t appear to be right. Everything was being pretty peculiar; but if Cousin Mary was in some strange manner changed she didn’t seem to know it, herself.
“Ames and I’ll be trotting along home now, dear,” she said. “Of course we wanted to put in an appearance to show that the family appreciates the honor you are to it; but I’m a frail reed these days and besides Celia might be waking up — she has dreams that scare her and makes the most frightful row — so goodnight, dear. Run and have a good time with the boys. Goodnight.”
Ames tapped Kate’s cheek with a friendly forefinger. “Yes. You dance like a fairy ballerina, young cousin. Have a big time with the boys I’ve been cheating. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. Oh, thank you — thank you for coming, both of you! Thank you for dancing with me. Goodnight.”
Kate watched them through the door and then turned to a boy who was waiting to dance with her; but everything was anti-climax after that. The big room, crowded, lost significance; amber light turned grey — and yet there was something new about everything. Once, while the orchestra rested, Laila ran to her.
“Listen, kiddo, who was the sample of the older set? I mean that Hamlet-looking tall bird you were dancing with and bumped into me. Isn’t his name Ames Lanning or something?”
“He’s my cousin,” Kate said. “He isn’t very Hamlet-looking, Laila; he keeps his hair short and he’s cheerful. Yes, his name’s Lanning.”
Laila laughed and pushed her. “Why the frosty tone? Come off the roost! Think the Fennigate family’s so sacred I can’t even ask about its cousins? If you aren’t the darnedest little priggy snob sometimes! Olive oil!”
Kate felt an inside shock and injury. Something infinitely sensitive seemed to have been intruded upon and insulted, though she didn’t know how — except that Laila had shown a characteristic, prospector-like interest in Ames Lanning and shouldn’t have thought she had a right even so much as to speak his very name. The matter was entirely different, a little later, when Miss Carroll mentioned him. Miss Carroll was the highest possible type of woman, and a precious angel, too; the finest, most secret things in the world were safe when her quiet voice mentioned them.
“I was delighted to meet your cousin, Mr. Lanning, Kate. Of course I know your Cousin Mary; but I’d never met him. It’s a pleasure to see a young man who looks to be all the good things one hears said of him. I’m sorry your father and mother were unable to be here, dear; but since they couldn’t I’m glad you invited Mr. and Mrs. Ames Lanning.”
At home, Kate repeated this to herself, word for word, especially “It’s a pleasure to see a young man who looks to be all the good things one hears said of him.” She loved Miss Carroll worshipfully, and it seemed as right and dignified to think of Miss Carroll and Ames Lanning together as it was stupid and unpleasant to think of him and Laila Capper in the same breath, as it were. Kate tried to put Laila’s freshness out of her mind entirely, so that she wouldn’t think of Laila and Ames in the same moment. She didn’t like to think of Ames and Cousin Mary in exactly the same moment, either; and this seemed to be because of that peculiar change in Cousin Mary at the end of the dance with Ames. What was that change?
Kate Fennigate was only seventeen, a young girl alone in her room thinking back over a school dance just ended; but she was able to see within herself somewhat. All at once she knew that it wasn’t Cousin Mary who had changed. Color rose high and burningly to Kate’s forehead as she discovered her own secret. Color rose even higher when she remembered saying, “I’ll keep the slipper.” She’d said it not knowing what she said, and by the mercy of heaven he hadn’t understood that she meant it and so hadn’t despised her for a crazy little fool.
“But this must have been going on in me all the time,” she thought, discovering with amazement something more. She wasn’t sorry, she was glad, and had no envy of Cousin Mary but now an added tenderness toward Mary and little Celia both, since both belonged to him.
