CHAPTER VI
AT THE HOTEL
"Oh Clarice, isn't it too bad that it's raining?" said Sue. "It hadn'tbegun when I started. It did look a little threatening, though. And Imeant to take you such a lovely walk, Clarice. I don't suppose youwant to go in the rain? I love to walk in the rain, it's such fun; butyou are so delicate--"
"That's it," said Clarice, ignoring the wistful tone in Sue's voice."I shouldn't dare to, Sue. There is consumption in my family, youknow,"--she coughed slightly,--"and it always gives me bronchitis togo out in the rain. Besides, I have such a headache! Have some candy?I'll show you my new dresses, if you like. They just came thismorning from New York--those muslins I told you about."
"Oh, that will be fun!" said Sue. But as she took off hertam-o'-shanter she gave a little sigh, and glanced out of the window.The rain was coming down merrily. It was the first they had had forseveral weeks, and sight, sound, and smell were alike delightful. Itwould be such fun to tramp about and splash in the puddles and get allsopping! Last summer, when the drought broke, she and Mary put ontheir bathing-dresses, and capered about on the lawn and played"deluge," and had a glorious time. But of course she was only twelvethen, and now she was thirteen; and it made all the difference in theworld, Clarice said. The water was coming in a perfect torrent fromthat spout! If you should hold your umbrella under it, it would gof-z-z-z-z-z! and fly "every which way"; that was centrifugal force, orsomething--
"Here they are," said Clarice.
Sue came back with a start, and became all eyes for the muslin dresseswhich were spread on the bed. They were too showy for a young girl,and the trimmings were cheap and tawdry; but the colors were fresh andgay, and Sue admired them heartily.
"Oh, Clarice, how lovely you will look in this one!" she cried. "Don'tyou want to try it on now, and let me see you in it?"
Clarice asked nothing better, and in a few minutes she was arrayed inthe yellow muslin with blue cornflowers. But now came a difficulty:the gown would not meet in the back.
"Oh, what a shame!" said Sue. "Will you have to send it back, Clarice,or can you have it altered here? There is a very good dressmaker; shemakes all our clothes,--Mary's and mine,--except what are made athome."
Clarice tittered.
"I'm afraid she wouldn't be quite my style," she said. "I wonderedwhere your clothes _were_ made, you poor child! But this is all right.I'll just take in my stays a little, that's all."
"Oh, don't, Clarice! Please don't! I am sure it will hurt you. Why,that would be tight lacing, and tight lacing does dreadful things toyou. I learned about it at school. Dear Clarice, don't do it, please!"
"Little goose! who said anything about tight lacing? I'm only goingto--there! Now look--I can put my whole hand in. You mustn't be soawfully countrified, Sue. You can't expect every one to go about in abag, as you and Mary Hart do. I am two years older than you, my dear,and I haven't lived in a village all my life. It is likely that I knowquite as much about such matters as you do."
"I--I beg your pardon, Clarice!" said Sue, the quick tears starting toher eyes. "Of course you know a great, great deal more than I do; I--Ionly thought--"
"There, do you see?" Clarice went on. "Now, that is realcomfortable--perfectly comfortable; and it does fit alegant, don'tit?"
"It certainly makes you look very slender," faltered Sue.
"Don't it?" repeated Clarice. "That's what my dressmaker always says."
She was turning slowly round and round before the glass, enjoying theeffect. "There is nothing like a slender figure, she says; and Ithink so, too. Why, Sue, if you'll promise never to tell a soul, I'lltell you something. I used to be fat when I was your age--almost asfat as Mary Hart. Just think of it!"
"Oh, did you? But Mary isn't really fat, Clarice. She's only--well,rather square, you know, and chunky. That is the way she is made; shehas always been like that."
"I call her fat!" said Clarice, decisively. "Of course, it's partlythe way she dresses, with no waist at all, and the same size all theway down. You would be just as bad, Sue, if you weren't so slim. Idon't see what possesses you to dress the way you do, making regularguys of yourselves. But I was going to tell you. My dressmaker--she'san alegant fitter, and a perfect lady--told me to eat pickled limesall I could, and put lots of vinegar on everything, and I would getthin. My! I should think I did. I used to eat six pickled limes everyday in recess. I got so that I couldn't hardly eat anything but whatit had vinegar in it. And I fell right away, in a few months, to whatI am now."
"Oh! Oh, Clarice!" cried Sue, transfixed with horror. "How could you?Why, it must have made you ill; I know it must. Is that why you are sopale?"
"Partly that," said Clarice, complacently. "Partly, I used to eatslate-pencils. I haven't had hardly any appetite for common food thisyear. The worst is these headaches I have right along. But I don'tcare! I should hate to have staring red cheeks like Mary Hart. Yourcolor is different; it's soft, and it comes and goes. But Mary Hart isdreadful beefy-looking."
"Clarice," said Sue, bravely, though she quivered with pain at therisk of offending her new friend, "please don't speak so of Mary. Sheis my oldest friend, you know, and I love her dearly. Of course I knowyou don't mean to say anything unkind, but--but I'd rather you didn't,please."
"Why, I'm not saying anything against her character!" said Clarice;and any one save Sue might have detected a spiteful ring in her voice."I won't say a word about her if you'd rather not, Sue, but if I dospeak, I must say what I think. She's just as jealous of me as shecan be, and she tries to make trouble between us--any one can seethat; and I don't care for her one bit, so there!"
"Oh, Clarice, don't say that! I thought we were all going to befriends together, and love one another, and-- But you don't reallyknow Mary yet. She is a dear; really and truly she is."
Clarice tossed her head significantly. "Oh, _I_ don't want to makemischief!" she said. "Of course it doesn't matter to _me_, my dear. Ofcourse I am only a stranger, Sue, and I can't expect you to care forme half as much as you do for Mary Hart. Of course I am nobody besideher."
"Clarice, Clarice, how can you? Don't talk so. It _kills_ me to haveyou talk so! when you know how I love you, how I would do anything inthe wide world for you, my dear, lovely Clarice!"
Clarice pouted for some time, but finally submitted to be embraced andwept over, and presently became gracious once more, and said that allshould be forgiven (she did not explain what there was to forgive),and only stipulated that they should not talk any more about MaryHart. Then she changed the subject to the more congenial one ofclothes, and became eloquent over some of the triumphs of herdressmaker. Finally, in a fit of generosity, she offered to let Suetry on the other muslin dress. Sue was enchanted. "And then we canplay something!" she cried. "Oh, there are all kinds of things we canplay in these, Clarice."
"I guess not!" said Clarice. "Play in my new dresses, and get them alltumbled? Sue Penrose, you are too childish. I never saw anything likethe way you keep wanting to play all the time. I should think you wereten, instead of thirteen."
Much abashed, Sue begged again for forgiveness. She did not see sovery much fun in just putting on somebody else's dress and then takingit off again, but she submitted meekly when Clarice slipped it overher head. But the same difficulty arose again: the dress would notcome anywhere near meeting round Sue's free, natural figure.
"Here," said Clarice; "wait a minute, Sue. I've got another pair ofstays. We'll fix it in a moment."
Sue protested, but was overruled. Clarice was determined, she said, tosee how her little friend would look if she were properly dressed foronce. In a few moments she was fastened into the blue muslin, andClarice was telling her that she looked too perfectly sweet foranything.
"Now _that_ is the way for you to dress, Sue Penrose. If I were you Ishould insist upon my mother's getting me a pair of stays to-morrow.Why, you look like a different girl. Why, you have an alegantfigure--perfectly alegant!"
But poor Sue was in sore discomfort, and no
amount of "alegance" couldmake her at ease. She could hardly breathe; she felt girded by a ringof iron. Oh, it was impossible; it was unbearable!
"I never, never could, Clarice!" she protested. "Unhook it for me;please do! Yes, it is very pretty, but I cannot wear it anothermoment."
She persisted, in spite of Clarice's laughing and calling her a littlecountrified goose, and was thankful to find herself free once more,and back in her own good belted frock.
"Oh, Clarice," she said, "if you only _knew_ how comfortable this was,you would have your dresses made so; I know you would."
"The idea!" said Clarice. "I guess not, Sue. Have some more candy? My,how my head aches!"
"It is this close room," said Sue, eagerly. "Clarice, dear, you arelooking dreadfully pale. See, it has stopped raining now. Do let uscome out; I know the fresh air will do you good."
But Clarice shook her head, and said that walking always made her headworse, and she should get her death of cold, besides.
"Then lie down, and let me read to you. Why, I forgot; I have 'RobRoy' in my pocket; I wondered what made it so heavy. I remember, now,I did think it might possibly rain, so I brought 'Rob' in case. There,dear, lie down and let me tuck you up. Oh, Clarice, you do look solovely lying down! I always think of you when I want to think of theSleeping Beauty. There, now; shut your eyes and rest, while I read."
Clarice detested "Rob Roy," but her head really did ache,--she hadbeen eating candy all the afternoon and most of the morning,--andthere was nothing else to do. She lay back and closed her eyes. Theywere dreadfully stupid people in this book, and she could hardlyunderstand a word of the "Scotch stuff" they talked. She wished shehad brought "Wilful Pansy, the Bride of an Hour," or some other"alegant" paper novel. And thinking these thoughts, Clarice presentlyfell asleep, which was perhaps the best thing she could do.
Sue read on and on, full of glory and rejoicing. Di Vernon was one ofher favorite heroines, and she fairly lived in the story while she wasreading it. She was in the middle of one of Di's impassioned speecheswhen a sound fell on her ear, slight but unmistakable. She looked up,her eyes like stars, the proud, ringing words still on her lips.Clarice was asleep, her head thrown back, her mouth open, peacefullysnoring. Another snore, and another! Sue closed the book softly. Itwas a pity that Clarice had lost that particular chapter, it was sosplendid; but she was tired, poor darling, and her head ached. It wasthe best thing, of course, that she should have fallen asleep. Suewould watch her sleep, and keep all evil things away. It was not clearwhat evil things could come into the quiet room of the respectablefamily hotel, but whatever they might be, Sue was ready for them.
Sue's ideas of hotel life had become considerably modified since shehad had some actual experience of it. Instead of being one round ofexcitement, as she had fancied, she was obliged to confess that it wasoften very dull. The Binns House was a quiet house, frequented mostlyby "runners," who came and went, and with a small number of permanentboarders--old couples who were tired of housekeeping, or ancientsingle gentlemen. The frescoes and mirrors were there, but the latterreflected only staid middle-aged faces, or else those of bearded menwho carried large handbags, and wore heavy gold watch-chains, andsmelt of strong tobacco and cheap perfumery. Even the table, with itsarray of little covered dishes that had once promised all the delightsof fairy banquets, proved disappointing. To lift a shining cover whichought to conceal something wonderful with a French name, and to findsquash--this was trying; and it had happened several times. Also,there was a great deal of mincemeat, and it did not compare withKaty's. And the bearded men gobbled, and pulled things about, andtalked noisily. Altogether, it was as different as could well beimagined from Sue's golden dream. And it was simply impossible to usethe soap they had, it smelt so horribly.
Hark! was that a foot on the stairs? Suppose something were reallygoing to happen now, while Clarice was asleep! Suppose she should hearvoices, and the door should open softly, softly, and a villainous facelook in--a bearded face, not fat and good-natured looking like thosepeople's at dinner, but a haggard face with hollow, burning eyes and asavage scowl. Some robber had heard of Clarice's jewelry and herfather's wealth, and had come all the way from New York (there were norobbers in Hilton) to rob, perhaps to murder her. Ah! but Sue wouldfling herself before the unconscious sleeper, and cry: "Back, villain,or I slay thee with my hands!" He might go then; but if he didn't, shewould throw the lamp at him. She and Mary had decided long ago thatthat was the best thing to do to a robber when you had no weapons,because the oil and glass together would be sure to frighten him.And--and--oh! what was that?
This time it was no fancy. A man's voice was heard in the hall below;a man's foot came heavily up the stairs, and passed into the nextroom. A hand was laid on the latch.
"Clarissy, are you here?" asked the voice.
Sue sprang to her feet. It was Mr. Packard. What should she do? Mr.Packard was no robber, but Sue did not like him, and it seemed quiteout of the question that he should find her here, with Clarice asleep.Seizing her tam and her jacket, and slipping "Rob Roy" into herpocket, she opened the window softly, and stepped out on the balconywhich formed the roof of the hotel porch. She might have gone out ofthe other door, but the window was nearer; besides, it was much moreexciting, and he might have seen her in the passage. Sue closed thewindow behind her, with a last loving glance at Clarice, who snoredquietly on; and just as Mr. Packard entered the room she climbed overthe balustrade and disappeared from sight.
"What upon earth is that?" asked Mrs. Binns, looking out of the windowof the office, which was on the ground floor. "Somebody shinnin' downthe door-post!--a boy, is it? Do look, Mr. Binns. I ain't got myglasses."
Mr. Binns looked.
"Well, I should say!" he remarked, with a slow chuckle. "It's Mis'Penrose's little gal. Well, she is a young 'un, to be sure! Be'n up tosee the Packard gal, I s'pose. Now, you'd think she'd find the dooreasier; most folks would. But it wouldn't be Sue Penrose to come outthe door while the' was a window handy by, _and_ a post."
"Sue Penrose is gettin' too big to go shinnin' round the street thatway," said Mrs. Binns. "I don't care for that Packard gal myself;she's terrible forthputtin', and triflin' and greedy, besides; but youwouldn't see her shinnin' down door-posts, anyway."
"Humph!" said Mr. Binns. "She don't know enough!"
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