CHAPTER XV
Another day went by, and still there was no news from Barry. The earlyautumn weather was exquisite, and Sidney, with the additional work forthe Mail that the editor's absence left for her, found herself verybusy. But life seemed suddenly to taste flat and uninteresting to her.The sunlight was glaring, the afternoons dusty and windy, and under allthe day's duties and pleasures--the meeting of neighbors, thechildren's confidences, her busy coming and going up and down thevillage streets--ran a sick undercurrent of disappointment andheartache. She went to the post-office twice, in that first long day,for the arriving mail, and Miss Potter, pleased at these glimpses ofthe lady from the Hall, chatted blithely as she pushed Italian letters,London letters, letters from Washington and New York, through thelittle wicket.
But there was not a line from Barry. On the second day Sidney began tothink of sending him a note; it might be chanced to the Bohemian Club--
But no, she wouldn't do that. If he did not care enough to write her,she certainly wouldn't write him.
She began to realize how different Santa Paloma was without his bigfigure, his laughter, his joyous comment upon people and things. Shehad taken his comradeship for granted, taken it as just one moreelement of the old childish days regained, never thought of its rudeinterruption or ending.
Now she felt ashamed and sore, she had been playing with fire, she toldherself severely; she had perhaps hurt him; she had certainly givenherself needless heartache. No romantic girl of seventeen ever suffereda more unreasoning pang than did Sidney when she came upon Barry'sshabby, tobacco-scented office coat, hanging behind his desk, or foundin her own desk one of the careless notes he so frequently used toleave there at night for her to find in the morning.
However, in the curious way that things utterly unrelated sometimesplay upon each other in this life, these days of bewilderment andchagrin bore certain good fruit. Sidney had for some weeks beenplanning an attack upon the sympathies of the Santa Paloma Women'sClub, but had shrunk from beginning it, because life was running verysmoothly and happily, and she was growing too genuinely fond of her newneighbors to risk jeopardizing their affection for her by a move shesuspected would be unpopular.
But now she was unhappy, and, with the curious stoicism that is born ofunhappiness, she plunged straight into the matter. On the third dayafter Barry's disappearance she appeared at the regular meeting of theclub as Mrs. Carew's guest.
"I hope this means that you are coming to your senses, ye bad girl!"said Mrs. Apostleman, drawing her to the next chair with a fatimperative hand.
"Perhaps it does," Sidney answered, with a rather nervous smile. Shesat attentive and appreciative, through the reading of a paper entitled"Some Glimpses of the Real Burns," and seemed immensely to enjoy thefour songs--Burns's poems set to music--and the clever recitation ofseveral selections from Burns that followed.
Then the chairman announced that Mrs. Burgoyne, "whom I'm sure we allknow, although she isn't one of us yet (laughter), has asked permissionto address the club at the conclusion of the regular program." Therewas a little applause, and Sidney, very rosy, walked rapidly forward,to stand just below the platform. She was nervous, obviously, and spokehurriedly and in a rather unnatural voice.
"Your chairman and president," she began, with a little inclinationtoward each, "have given me permission to speak to you today for fiveminutes, because I want to ask the Santa Paloma Women's Club a favor--agreat favor, in fact. I won't say how much I hope the club will decideto grant it, but just tell you what it is. It has to do with thefactory girls across the river. I've become interested in some of them;partly I suppose because some friends of mine are working for just suchgirls, only under infinitely harder circumstances, in some of theeastern cities, I feel, we all feel, I know, that the atmosphere of OldPaloma is a dangerous one for girls. Every year certain ones among them'go wrong,' as the expression is; and when a girl once does that, sheis apt to go very wrong indeed before she stops. She doesn't care whatshe does, in fact, and her own people only make it harder, practicallydrive her away. Or even if she marries decently, and tries to live downall the past it comes up between her and her neighbors, between her andher children, perhaps, and embitters her whole life. And so finally shegoes to join that terrible army of women that we others try to pretendwe never see or hear of at all. These girls work hard all day, andtheir homes aren't the right sort of homes, with hot dirty rooms,--fullof quarreling and crowding; and so they slip out at night and meettheir friends in the dancehalls, and the moving-picture shows. Andwe--we can't blame them." Her voice had grown less diffident, and rangwith sudden longing and appeal. "They want only what we all wanted afew years ago," she said. "They want good times, lights and music, andpretty gowns, something to look forward to in the long, hotafternoons--dances, theatricals, harmless meetings of all sorts. If wecould give them safe clean fun--not patronizingly, and not tooobviously instructive--they'd be willing to wait for it; they'd talkabout it instead of more dangerous things; they'd give up dangerousthings for it. They are very nice girls, some of them, and theirfriends are very nice fellows, for the most part, and they are--theyare so very young.
"However, about the club--I am wondering if it could be borrowed for atemporary meeting-place for them, if we form a sort of club among them.I say temporary, because I hope we will build them a clubhouse of theirown some day. But meantime there is only the Grand Opera House, whichall the traveling theatrical companies rent; Hansen's Hall, which isover a saloon, so that won't do; and the Concert Hall, which coststwenty-five dollars a night. We would, of course, see that the club wascleaned after every meeting, and pay for the lights. I--I think that'sabout all," finished Sidney, feeling that she had put her case ratherineloquently, and coming to a full stop. She sat down, her eyesnowhere, her cheeks very red.
There was the silence of utter surprise in the room. After a pause,Mrs. White raised a gloved hand. Permission from the chair was givenMrs. White to speak.
"Your idea would be to give the Old Paloma girls a dance here, Mrs.Burgoyne?"
"Regular dances, yes," said Sidney, standing up. "To let them use theclubhouse, say, two nights a week. Reading, and singing, and sewing onenight, perhaps, and a dance another. Or we could get goodmoving-picture films, or have a concert or play, and ask the mothersand fathers now and then; charades and Morris dances, something likethat."
"Dancing and moving-pictures--oh, dear, dear!" said Mrs. White, with awhimsical smile and a shake of her head, and there was laughter.
"All those things take costuming, and that takes money," said thechairman, after a silence, rather hesitatingly.
"Money isn't the problem," Mrs. Burgoyne rejoined eagerly; "you'll findthat they spend a good deal now, even for the wretched pleasures theyhave."
There was another silence. Then Mrs. White again gained permission tospeak, and rose to do so.
"I think perhaps Mrs. Burgoyne, being a newcomer here, doesn't quiteunderstand our feeling toward our little club," she said verypleasantly. "We built it," she went on, with a slight touch of emotion,"as a little refuge from everything jarring and unpleasant; we meant itto stand for something a little BETTER and FINER than the things ofeveryday life can possibly be. Perhaps we felt that there are alreadytoo many dances and too many moving-picture shows in the world; perhapswe felt that if we COULD forget those things for a little while--Idon't mean," said Mrs. White smilingly reasonable, "that the reform ofwayward girls isn't a splendid and ennobling thing; I believe heartilyin the work institutions and schools are doing along those lines,but--" and with a pretty little gesture of helplessness she flung outher hands--"but we can't have a Hull House in every little town, youknow, and I'm afraid we shouldn't find very many Jane Addamses if wedid! Good girls don't need this sort of thing, and bad girls--well,unfortunately, the world has always had bad girls and always will have!We would merely turn our lovely clubhouse over to a lot of littleromping hoydens."
"But--" began Mrs. Burgoyne eagerly.
"Jus
t ONE moment," said the President, sweetly, and Mrs. Burgoyne satdown with blazing cheeks. "I only want to say that I think this isoutside the purpose for which the club was formed," added Mrs. White."If the club would care to vote on this, it seems to me that would bethe wisest way of settling the matter; but perhaps we could hear from afew more members first?"
There was a little rustle of applause at this, and Sidney felt herheart give a sick plunge, and raged within herself because her own acthad placed her at so great a disadvantage. In another moment, however,general attention was directed to a tall, plainly dressed, gentlewoman, who rose and said rather shyly:
"Since you suggested our discussing this a little, Mrs. President, Iwould like to say that I like this idea very much myself. I've oftenfelt that we weren't doing very much good, just uplifting ourselves, asit were, and I hope Mrs. Burgoyne will let me help her in any way Ican, whether the club votes for or against this plan. I--I have fourgirls and boys of my own at home, as you know, and I find that evenwith plenty of music, and all the library books and company they want,it's hard enough to keep those children happy at night. And, ladies,there must be plenty of mothers over there in Old Paloma who worryabout it as we do, and yet have no way of helping themselves. It seemsto me we couldn't put our clubhouse to better use, or our time either,for that matter. I would vote decidedly 'yes' to such a plan. I'veoften felt that we--well, that we rather wasted some of our time here,"she ended mildly.
"Thank you, Mrs. Moore," said Mrs. White politely.
"I hope it is part of your idea to let our own children have a part inthe entertainments you propose," briskly added another woman, aclergyman's wife, rising immediately. "I think Doctor Babcock wouldthoroughly approve of the plan, and I am sure I do. Every littlewhile," she went on smilingly, "my husband asks me what GOOD the clubis doing, and I never can answer--"
"Men's clubs do so much good!" said some loud, cheerful voice at theback of the hall, and there was laughter.
"A great many of them do good and have side issues, like this one, thatare all for good," the clergyman's wife responded quickly, "andpersonally I would thank God to be able to save even ten--to save evenone--of those Old Paloma girls from a life of shame and suffering. Iwish we had begun before. Mrs. Burgoyne may propose to build them theirown clubhouse entirely herself; but if not, I hope we can all help inthat too, when the time comes."
"Thank you, Mrs. Babcock," said the President coldly. "What do youthink, Miss Pratt?"
"Oh, Mrs. Carew, and Mrs. Brown, and I all feel as Mrs. Burgoyne does,"admitted Anne Pratt innocently, a little fluttered.
It was Mrs. White's turn to color.
"I didn't know that the matter had been discussed," she said stiffly.
"Only generally; not in reference to the club," Mrs. Burgoyne suppliedquickly.
"I myself will propose an affirmative vote," said Mrs. Apostleman'srich old voice. Mrs. Apostleman was entirely indifferent toparliamentary law, and was never in order. "How d'ye do it? The ayesrise, is that it?"
She pulled herself magnificently erect by the chair-back in front ofher, and with clapping and laughter the entire club rose to its feet.
"This is entirely out of order," said Mrs. White, very rosy. Everyonesat down suddenly, and the chairman gave two emphatic raps of her gavel.
The President then asked permission to speak, and moved, with greatdignity, that the matter be laid before the board of directors at thenext meeting, and, if approved, submitted in due order to the vote ofthe club.
The motion was briskly seconded, and a few minutes later Sidney foundherself freed from the babel of voices and walking home with nervousrapidity. "Well, that's over!" she said once or twice aloud. "ThankHeaven, it's over!"
"Is your head better, Mother?" said Joanna, who had been hanging on theHall gate waiting for her mother, and who put an affectionate arm abouther as they walked up the path. "You LOOK better."
"Jo," said Mrs. Burgoyne seriously, "there's one sure cure for theblues in this world. I recommend it to you, for it's safer thancocaine, and just as sure. Go and do something you don't want to--forsomebody else."
The Rich Mrs. Burgoyne Page 15
