To the man inside the little club house, the slowly moving door was sinister and threatening. Not a sound came to his ears; that is, no human sound. He could hear the lapping of the water on the shore, could hear the swish of a tree branch on the roof, but there was no indication of another’s presence on the other side of the door.
He grasped a stout piece of wood which had originally been intended for a fire log and advanced slowly. About five paces from the threshold he halted and waited. The door had stopped moving. He could see nothing but he sensed someone standing there, listening. Cautiously he stretched out his hand and gave the door a sudden jerk inward. A girlish figure was precipitated into the room at his feet.
“Oh!” Gale almost shrieked as a brown hand seized her own. Her heart raced with terror until she saw his face.
“Brent!”
“Gale!”
The man flung aside his bit of firewood and helped her to her feet.
“You were almost crowned,” he declared laughing. “I thought a ghost of an ancient pirate had risen to confront me.”
“And I thought you were a smuggler or something!” Gale admitted laughingly. “I was going to protect our club house from any of your nefarious schemes.”
“How did you get on the island?” he asked.
“I rode over in the boat—with you,” she explained and smiled at his mystification. “I was hiding under the canvas in the stern.”
“Suppose I had been a burglar or something,” he admonished. “You would be in a fine mess.”
“But I’m glad you aren’t,” she said. She swung herself up onto the table and swung her legs out before her, regarding him with serious eyes. “But what are you doing here at this hour?”
“Lady, you see a recently returned traveler seeking some place to lay his weary head.”
“You came back to Marchton tonight?” she murmured. “Why didn’t you come to our house?”
“It was too late to barge in upon anybody. I had the brilliant thought of your club house and decided I would like to spend a night here again. So here I am,” he finished.
“It is boarded up for the winter,” Gale said with a distasteful glance around her at the dust and shuttered windows. “It isn’t very pleasant now.”
“Never mind about me,” he declared. “Young lady, you explain what you mean by running around at this hour of the night alone? You should be in bed and asleep.”
Gale grimaced wryly. “I wasn’t sleepy and I felt like walking.”
He swung her down from the table. “Come along, I’ll take you home.”
“But you aren’t coming back here, are you?” she protested when she saw he had left his traveling bag behind them in the club house.
“For tonight,” he said.
“But—but it is so cold and damp and—dangerous.”
He laughed. “Nonsense. I want to—I want to think about something and this is a fine place for it. Tomorrow I’m going to the Ayres Hotel.”
Gale let her protests subside. For the ride over to the mainland she was mostly silent. It was not until they stood at the gate to the Howard yard that she asked the question that had been bothering her.
“Are you going to be in Marchton long?” she asked.
“Not so very long,” he answered. “You see, Gale, I’ve been offered a position with the Transcontinental Air Line Company. It—it’s the chance I’ve been waiting for.”
“I’m glad,” Gale said, even though in her heart she felt she wasn’t glad because then she wouldn’t see him very often. “You will live in Washington?” she heard herself asking.
“Yes.” It seemed as though he wanted to say something else but decided not to. Instead he murmured, “Good night.”
But Gale stopped him. “Brent, I’d like to ask you—that is would you mind—I mean, will you go to the Senior Prom with me?” Her words seemed loud and brazen to her own ears. She couldn’t see him very well in the shadows but she had the horrified notion he was laughing at her. And what man in his position wouldn’t laugh? Not that he was so much older than she—he couldn’t be more than twenty-three and she was almost nineteen. It was just that she should have the cheek to ask him! She felt like crying, “Don’t pay any attention to me. I know you won’t go. I shouldn’t have asked,” when as if in a dream she heard him saying—
“That will be great, Gale. When is it?”
As Gale ran the short distance to the house she felt as though she were treading on air. Her heart was soaring with ecstasy. It was a small matter to creep upstairs, undress and get into bed without making a sound. Once in bed she could give herself up utterly to dreams of that gala night to come.
CHAPTER XVIII
Studies
Even the pleasant anticipation of the Senior Prom could not drive from Gale’s mind the necessity for passing her mid-term examinations. Her whole future, so she had privately decided, rested on her passing and going on with her friends to Briarhurst. If she couldn’t go with the others she would not want to go at all. It was unthinkable that she should be left behind!
Slowly but surely Gale pulled her marks up. The lapse of time when she had fallen so far behind was forgotten. She regained her old honor roll standing in every subject but one.
Gale had always had trouble with English. Poetry, literature and written composition all combined to give her the most trouble of all her subjects. She could read poetry, memorize it and recite it beautifully, but she had not the faintest appreciation of it. The passages of the greater composers with their clarity and beautifully penned expressions awoke no interest in her whatever. Literature stirred her even less. Her compositions were fair, but not good enough to counter-balance her deterrent marks in the other subjects.
Disheartened and it seemed all for naught, Gale studied literature and poetry. English was a major and she must pass! It meant the necessary points for her graduation! She learned the words in her books and could repeat them like an automaton but they meant absolutely nothing to her.
Miss Relso was not so very much older than Gale. She could remember her own school days when she, too, had struggled with difficult subjects. She wanted to help Gale but the girl must first learn an appreciation of Shakespeare and Browning and all the other masters. Once she had the foundation of a liking for the finer writings it would not be difficult to master all she had to for her class.
The teacher, in a vain attempt to force interest into Gale, kept her after school for conferences, paid particular attention to all Gale’s classwork. But it seemed hopeless. Gale either couldn’t or wouldn’t learn to like poetry.
“Gale, take this book home and read the story of Elaine and Lancelot tonight,” the teacher said one afternoon. “When you’ve finished it, no matter what time it is, come around to my house and we’ll talk about it.”
Gale accepted the book Idylls of the King reluctantly and left the classroom. She had a wild desire to pitch the volume into the first handy wastepaper basket. Never had she liked Tennyson. She had not liked any of the poets, but Tennyson in particular. However, the blue book remained in her possession as she wandered homeward. It even remained with her when she met the other Adventure Girls at the Kopper Kettle.
“Hello,” she said as she sank down in her chair. “Where’s Phyllis?”
“In the gym practicing for basketball,” Janet said and pulled her chair in closer. “Now here is my plan.”
“Plan?” Carol inquired lazily. “I didn’t know you had one. What is it for?”
“Listen and find out,” Janet said. “While Phyllis is away, let’s go to her Aunt and ask her to let Phyl go to Briarhurst with us.”
“Not me!” Carol said lustily. “I wouldn’t face that woman for anything.”
“Scaredy cat,” Janet scoffed. “She can’t bite you.”
“She will try hard enough,” Carol declared. “That is the wrong thing to do, Janet. She won’t agree for spite then. You know she never lets Phyl do anything when she thinks Phyl has her heart r
eally set on it. We should use strategy.”
“Such as—” Janet inquired hopefully.
“I don’t know,” Carol admitted.
“Then we’ll do as I suggest—this once,” Janet said. “We’ll go and see her Aunt. Who will go with me?” She looked around. “Don’t all speak at once,” she begged when none of the others had said a word.
Gale laughed. “I might be persuaded,” she said at last. “I’ll go if you will do the talking.”
“Try to keep Janet quiet,” Carol laughed.
“I’ll go too,” Valerie said.
“Excuse me,” Madge put in. “I feel as Carol does. I won’t face Phyl’s Aunt!”
“Then we three will go and beard the dragon in her den,” Janet said with dignity. “Come along, girls.”
The three went out and walked briskly up the long hill. However, as they neared Phyllis’ home their steps began to lag. Some of their bravado was vanishing now that they were actually nearing the tall, cold, sharp-faced woman whose strong will so dominated the life of their friend.
The house itself did not look very encouraging. The curtains were drawn over all the windows and the panes looked bleak and unfriendly. The outside was grey and weatherbeaten and the girls knew from their infrequent visits the inside was just as bleak.
“Well, ring the bell,” Janet said as they stood undecided on the porch.
Gale stretched out a hand and pulled the old fashioned bell handle. They could hear the peal of the iron bell somewhere within the interior.
“Don’t forget,” Valerie told Janet, “you are to do the talking!”
A second later the door was opened by Phyllis’ Aunt in person. The woman took in the three girls standing there and remained firmly planted in the doorway. Obviously she did not intend to invite them in.
“Well?” she said when neither of them spoke.
“I—we—that is—” Janet began lamely and looked appealingly at Gale. Gone were all intentions of talking.
“We’ve come to talk to you about Phyllis,” Gale said, reluctantly taking upon herself their mission.
“What about her?” Miss Fields demanded. “If she is in any kind of trouble I’ll—”
“Oh, no!” Valerie said hastily.
“We’ve come to talk about Phyllis going to Briarhurst,” Gale said unwisely.
The woman before them stiffened noticeably, if it were possible for her to get much stiffer.
“Phyllis is going to Stonecliff,” she said.
“That is it,” Gale said. She scarcely realized what she was saying. Her words tumbled out incoherently in her haste to say what was to be said and to be away again. She realized now more than ever before why Phyllis lived in such awe of Miss Fields. The woman was a positive tyrant! There was not a glimmer of emotion in the stern cut of her features. Gale doubted if a smile had ever curled the corners of the thin lips.
“We’ve become such good friends with Phyllis that we were hoping she might go along with the rest of us to Briarhurst. It seems a shame to break up our group now. Besides Briarhurst is much the finer college. Their curriculum is much larger, the girls are friendly—everything is nicer and Phyllis really wants to go with us.” Gale realized how unwise the last had been as soon as she had said it.
Miss Fields drew herself up to her full height and glared at each girl in turn. “Phyllis is going to Stonecliff,” she said, and without giving the girls a chance to carry the argument any farther she turned and slammed the door in their faces.
“I’m glad she saw our point of view,” Janet commented dryly when the girls had left the vicinity of Phyllis’ home.
“Do you suppose we should tell Phyllis we were here?” Gale asked after a moment.
“We better,” Valerie said.
“I hope Miss Fields doesn’t think Phyllis sent us up there,” Janet put in.
“I hope not!” Gale said.
“Well, what luck?” Carol demanded when the three girls reëntered the Kopper Kettle.
“Not one inch of ground has been gained,” Janet sighed. “We were forced to retreat. The enemy was too much for us.”
“You should have used strategy,” Carol insisted.
Janet sighed and motioned to Phyllis who was just entering.
Phyllis listened silently to the story of the girls’ visit to her Aunt. She had not a word of comment to make. She was not surprised at the abrupt manner of her Aunt. She might have told them to expect nothing else.
When the girls broke up to make their ways to their separate homes for dinner Gale at once retreated to her room and opened the book her English teacher had given her. Idylls of the King had not appealed particularly to her when they had read it in class last year. But now she found her interest being drawn into the story of Elaine.
“‘Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable,
Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat.’”
From the very first words she let herself be drawn into the story, and found to her amazement, when she had finished, that she enjoyed it. Perhaps it was because she secretly saw much of Elaine in herself. And Lancelot? No one but Brent could be Lancelot to her.
Obediently when she had finished she donned her coat and walked over to Miss Relso’s home. There she had the most pleasant discussion she had ever had about a book. She found herself liking the young English teacher more every minute and made a determined effort to like and to grasp those points upon which she had never focused much attention before.
From that time on the major part of Gale’s battle was won. Every day brought a new discovery, new appreciation of plays and poetry. She even surprised herself when she discovered she was liking the studies in which she had previously failed. Now she took rapid strides forward. She coöperated wholeheartedly with her teacher and she did not fail to pass her examinations with flying colors. Her admiration for her teacher knew no bounds.
CHAPTER XIX
Senior Prom
The committee’s plans for the Senior Prom met with many setbacks. There was trouble on all sides, but finally everything was settled. It had so long been delayed that it was May before the big night finally arrived. It was the main event in the lives of the Seniors. It was a night they had long awaited and dreamed of.
If the night were to exceed Gale’s dreams it would have to be gala indeed. For months, ever since the night she had asked Brent, Gale had lived the Prom secretly in her heart many times. Brent had gone to Washington to take up his position with the air company, but he wrote her long, chatty, amusing letters. And she answered in kind. She had been desperately afraid he might forget he had promised to take her, but there was no danger of that. The day before the Prom Brent came to Marchton and upon insistence from the whole family stayed in the guest room at the Howard house.
Now here she was, coming from the dressing room where she had left her wrap, meeting Brent, tall and handsome in his formal clothes. Gale felt her heart must burst with happiness. She had no idea how lovely she herself was, flushed with the excitement and happiness of the evening, but Brent had.
The ballroom was crowded. Gale felt as though she scarcely knew the young people there. There was such a difference. Formal clothes on the boys and long, fluffy gowns on the girls changed the hail-and-well-met chums of the campus to dignified young people. The committee had spared no pains to make the night one to be remembered. The ballroom was decorated artfully with the school colors. The orchestra played smooth, sweet rhythm.
“Happy?” Brent asked.
Gale sighed. “I didn’t know I could be so happy.”
Over his shoulder—she could just about see over Brent’s shoulder—Gale smiled at Phyllis dancing with David Kimball. She was delighted on Phyllis’ account. It had been a long time before Phyllis dared plan to come to the dance. There was Valerie dancing with Peter Arnold—and Janet! Janet with Mark Sherwin and having the time of her life. That was easily determined by the rapt expression on her friend’s face. Gale in her long acquaintance with Janet had nev
er seen the latter look so demure and sweet.
Carol was there with her favorite basketball player, as was Madge with the boy next door. In fact every one Gale knew was there and well they might be. It was the goodbye social affair for them. In another month they would be graduating from high school. Then would come vacation days and then college.
Mingling with the other young people she knew Gale felt happy. She danced with the other boys and Brent danced at least once with the other Adventure Girls, but Gale was happiest when she was dancing with Brent. At other times they talked a lot, they always had something to talk about, to discuss, to laugh about, but tonight they were for the most part silent. Gale felt it was all a dream. The reality was even more sweet than her dreams had been.
Down the smooth expanse of floor Brent guided their progress, winding in and out among the other dancers, to the wide French windows that led out onto the terrace of the Country Club. It was an exceptionally warm night for the spring and startlingly clear. The stars were out doubly strong and the moon beamed with, it seemed, whole-hearted approval upon the pleasure of the young people.
With mutual consent they found a little stone bench in the seclusion of a willow tree and sat down. The night was scented with the sweetness of blossoming flowers. Gale leaned her head back against the rough trunk of the tree and closed her eyes. She felt if something didn’t happen soon to remind her she was actually here she would simply burst with happiness and contentment. It was like a setting in a play—the garden, a boy and girl, and in the distance the faint murmur of music.
“Isn’t it lovely?” she murmured.
Brent had eyes not for the night, but only for Gale. He said as much and she smiled.
“I mean it,” he insisted. “Gale—” his voice had become gentle, low, and desperately serious. “I want to marry you. No, listen, hear it all,” he said, as she would have spoken. “I know, you are going to college, you want to do a lot of things. I want to amount to something and to have something real to offer you. It will take time. But I had to tell you now. I’ve thought about it a lot lately—I’m always thinking about you. Tonight I—I just had to tell you!”
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