Kitabı oku: «The Camp Fire Girls at the End of the Trail», sayfa 7
CHAPTER XIV
Facing the Music
Early the next morning Ralph Marshall walked over to the Sunrise Camp.
Without any comment or explanation Howard Brent had delivered, at the breakfast table an hour before, the message entrusted to him.
Except for a slight headache Ralph had entirely recovered from his injury, but he was fearful that Peggy had suffered more than she had confessed and, added to the fact that she had sent for him, was his own desire to know how she was.
For the time being the unfortunate conversation he had held with Terry Benton had entirely passed out of Ralph’s mind. He did think of it occasionally and he was ashamed of it. If Terry had ever reopened the subject, Ralph intended cutting him short by saying that the discussion had been a mistake, and that he had made a fool of himself. But, as Terry did not speak, Ralph had preferred to let the affair drop, not having sufficient courage to plunge boldly into the revival of what he wished to forget.
This morning he was really only interested in finding out that Peggy was all right, and he was deeply and profoundly grateful to her. It seemed almost impossible that any girl could have shown so much nerve and strength. If, in times past, he had liked girls better who were less athletic, whose muscles were less hard, who were altogether more “feminine” according to his preconceived ideas, Ralph had humor enough to realize that his ideal should have changed since the day before.
Peggy Webster had rested and was busy with her share of the morning Camp Fire work when Ralph came into camp. Her greeting of him was entirely cordial and friendly. There was nothing in her manner which might indicate any difference in her attitude from the evening before. She was interested to know that he had slept soundly and that his head was not troubling him. He had seen the hotel doctor who had advised him to pay no further attention to a slight wound which would quickly heal of itself.
It was also Peggy who proposed that they take a walk together after she had finished her tasks. Half an hour later they started off in apparently perfect accord.
Peggy had insisted, both to her mother and aunt, as well as to Ralph Marshall, that she had almost forgotten any discomfort she may have suffered the previous evening and was certainly not too tired for a walk. Indeed, she believed that, getting away from camp and so much talk of a disaster that had almost happened, would be good for her.
Therefore, Ralph Marshall was naturally unprepared for what inevitably followed.
It was not that Peggy was acting to deceive him or any one else. She had almost tragically little ability for playing any part that was not essentially straightforward and truthful. But, after she had gone to bed, in thinking over what Howard Brent had told her, Peggy had become more convinced than ever that he had in some way made a mistake. She simply did not believe that Ralph Marshall could have made a wager in regard to winning her friendship. Whatever weaknesses of character he might possess, he had always been well bred.
Perhaps Peggy had old-fashioned ideas. There was a kind of simplicity about her which made her seem younger than she actually was. But she had gotten some of these ideas from her father, who had the old-time courtesy and respect for women, in spite of the fact that he belonged to the new generation. Peggy knew that he felt a man should never talk of a woman with other men in any way that would reflect upon her, however little he might respect or like the woman.
Just for a moment it flashed through Peggy’s mind to reflect how angry her father would be, if he ever learned that two young men had actually made a bet concerning her – and one through which her dignity and self-respect must suffer. Then she put the thought away from her as unworthy of consideration.
During the first part of their walk, Peggy made no reference to the reason she had had for having asked Ralph to come over to see her so soon after their farewell the evening before. Indeed, she had almost forgotten the reason herself, although always the consciousness of it was lurking at the back of her brain.
But she and Ralph enjoyed walking together. There never was a lovelier place than among these tall pine forests with the trails cut between the trees, and leading into unexpected and open vistas.
Ralph had a charming voice and, when he and Peggy were walking in single file and not talking, he sang for her amusement. He seemed to have been to every light opera that had been produced in the last five years, and knew at least one or two songs from each of them. As Peggy lived in the country and had heard but few, she was greatly entertained.
It was Ralph who finally suggested that they rest.
But it was Peggy who chose the somewhat extraordinary place.
There was a particularly large pine tree at the edge of an open space. It had long branches which swung out, like comfortable hammocks, not far above the ground.
Peggy climbed into one of them and sat with her feet curled up under her in an odd fashion, with her back resting against the trunk of the tree.
Ralph sat nearer the end so that his weight bore the branch down almost to the ground.
“Peggy, you look like a tree nymph, or an elf, or whatever wood spirit is supposed to inhabit a tree. I am not well up on tree-ology, or anything else,” Ralph said good humoredly. “But you are so dark and your eyes and hair and skin are so brown. Besides somehow you have an altogether, outdoor look about you.”
Peggy laughed. “Do you mean that for a compliment, Ralph? Because, of course, I understand that translated your speech simply means I am tanned until I look like an Indian, or something else not completely civilised.”
Then Peggy’s expression changed and she actually flushed scarlet.
“There is something I want to ask you, Ralph, though now that I have the chance I had much rather not. You see, I realize that it isn’t true, but I owe it to you to be able to tell Howard Brent so. You didn’t make a bet with Terry Benton about me, did you? You didn’t say you would win my friendship by being attentive to me, just for the sake of a wager? My friendship really isn’t valuable enough, and in any case you could have had it without taking that much trouble.”
Because Ralph did not answer at once, Peggy bent over toward him from her higher place.
“I’m sorry, Ralph; naturally you are angry with me; but I didn’t believe the story for a minute.”
Ralph returned the girl’s look steadily. The expression of his face had never been stronger. His old expression of laughing good nature and plastic content with himself and circumstances at least temporarily disappeared.
“It is true though, Peggy,” he answered, “although I would give a good deal to be able to tell you it was not.”
In spite of his reply, Peggy continued to look puzzled.
“But I can’t understand any reason,” she protested.
Ralph shook his head. “Of course you can’t, and there isn’t any. In an idiotic moment I simply said a very stupid thing to Terry Benton without realizing just how ugly and ill-mannered it was. Ever since I have been trying my best to forget I ever said it. You are the one person in the world whom I would rather not have brought into such a discussion, and to find that out is a part of my punishment. I wonder if you can believe, Peggy, how sorry and ashamed I am, and have been ever since I made a foolish wager which I regretted the moment after I had gotten into it. You are such a clean, straightforward person, Peggy, I don’t suppose you can even imagine how a human being can do an ugly thing and yet not be altogether horrid.”
Ralph was talking like a boy, forgetting that he was a number of years older than his companion.
But Peggy’s eyes had changed their expression and were no longer puzzled.
“I might, be willing to accept your point of view, Ralph, if, after you had made the wager in which I was to be a victim to your vanity, you had paid no attention to me. But I can’t forget that it was afterwards you began being agreeable to me, asking me to take walks and to dance with you. If you did not care about winning your wager, why did you not continue to politely ignore me, as you had always done? Well you were successful enough, because I did like you very much until now.”
Peggy’s cheeks were scarlet and yet she could be nothing but truthful.
“I have a dreadful temper and I am so angry with you now, I feel as if I never wish to see or speak to you again. Please let me go back to camp alone.”
Ralph shook his head.
“No, I won’t do that,” he answered quietly, “but I will not trouble you along the way – not even by asking your forgiveness. Some day, perhaps, I may be able to prove to you how truly sorry I am. Now I can’t even pretend that I have any more right to your friendship.”
CHAPTER XV
Expiation
A few days later the Camp Fire guardian drove over to the hotel nearby, accompanied only by Mr. Jefferson Simpson.
Bettina had offered to go with her, but she had announced that she preferred going alone.
This was curious because the one thing Mrs. Burton had made a point of, ever since the arrival of her Camp Fire party in Arizona, was that she be allowed to remain as inconspicuous as possible. And, if she wished nobody to find out who she was, she had certainly to remain in obscurity.
To appear at a fashionable hotel filled with Eastern tourists was to proclaim her identity, since the greater number of them would assuredly be familiar with her appearance, knowing her by reputation if not having actually seen her act.
But Mrs. Burton was too worried to consider small, personal annoyances. Then she had a fashion of acting suddenly, having no very great patience with the things that displeased her.
For the last few days the atmosphere of the Sunrise camp had not been an agreeable one. However, the trouble was not with the Camp Fire girls, they being only incidental; the difficulty was a family one, which is of all varieties the most trying. And Mrs. Burton had been away from her own family so much of the time that she had almost forgotten how wrought up one can become over comparatively small matters, when they affect one’s own people.
In the first place, for several days Peggy Webster had been entirely unlike herself, without giving the least reason for her sudden change from her natural buoyancy to a condition of gravity and depression.
More annoying, she insisted that she was not depressed. When Mrs. Burton and Bettina frankly told her that they did not believe her assertion; nevertheless she would take neither one of them into her confidence.
Afterwards when Mrs. Burton insisted that Peggy was not well and must have suffered from her fall and so should see a doctor, Peggy flatly declined to see one. However, Peggy’s refusal did not affect her aunt.
One of the errands which brought her to the hotel was to call upon the hotel physician and make an appointment with him to come over to their camp.
Personally, Mrs. Burton was hurt by Peggy’s behavior. She cared for Peggy more than for anybody in the world, except her husband and sister and perhaps her beloved girlhood friend, Betty Graham.
If anything troubled Peggy, either mentally or physically, her aunt did not understand why she would not confide in her. Ordinarily they understood each other perfectly, so that even when they disagreed and had small fallings out, their estrangements never lasted more than an hour or so.
But the expression in her niece’s face had recently troubled Polly Burton. She could not endure the thought of Peggy being ill or unhappy. If there was anything in the world that Peggy desired, which she could possibly obtain for her, she would have traveled to the end of the world to secure it. And this Peggy knew. Nevertheless she had been going about camp for the last few days doing her ordinary tasks, walking and driving with the other girls, but always with an expression that was not Peggy’s.
Instead of her usual, frank, clear look of happiness and good comradeship, she had a hurt, almost an abashed expression, as if life had somehow suddenly made her feel less sure of its justice and sincerity.
Yet, there was no trouble between Peggy and any one of the Camp Fire girls. Besides being more generally popular than any other member of the group, Bettina had made every effort to discover if a difficulty had arisen and could find no trace of one.
Over the other family matter which was disturbing both her mother and aunt, Peggy could not be worrying, because she had scolded and laughed at both of them, insisting that they were making too much of nothing.
Billy’s affairs were always involved in more or less mystery, and Billy adored mystery. The fact that he was disappearing every day and refusing to tell any one where he went, or what he was doing, did not make any particular impression upon his sister. Peggy really believed that Billy on most occasions behaved in this fashion in order to create an excitement of which he could be the center.
However, this time at least, his mother and aunt were under a different impression. Mrs. Webster was nearly sick with annoyance and anxiety over Billy’s obstinacy and what she considered his reckless behavior.
After being an invalid for several months and refusing to exert himself in order to regain his strength, he had suddenly announced that he was entirely well and able to do whatever he wished. At present this consisted on going away from Sunrise camp early each morning and often not returning until bedtime. When he did come in he was usually exhausted, but he must have recovered during the night, since he was able to start out again next day.
Nevertheless, Billy looked very frail and young, and whatever his mother may have felt, Mrs. Burton had wished a number of times lately that he was small enough to lock up in a dark bedroom, like a wilful small boy.
She did not happen to possess a dark bedroom at camp, but then facts never interfered with the sweep of Mrs. Burton’s imagination.
She had talked to Billy a number of times, begging and commanding him not to continue to worry his mother and at least to tell her where he was spending his time. But, although Billy was very sweet and apologetic, begging them both not to be uncomfortable over him, and saying that he would certainly tell what he was doing if he could, he did not take anybody into his confidence, nor did he cease to make daily disappearances.
Even Vera Lageloff was not told of his plans, and if she had any suspicion, she must have been pledged to silence, since she never mentioned it.
Today, as Mr. Simpson stopped her carriage in front of the great hotel, Mrs. Burton had about reached the conclusion that she was not so unhappy over having no children of her own, as she had always believed herself to be. However, if she was going to take her nephews and niece so seriously, after all what was she being spared?
So far as Peggy was concerned she was unhappy over her, but not angry. No one could be seriously angry for long with Peggy. But, with Billy, Mrs. Burton’s point of view was a totally different one. He was too young to be a law unto himself, if there was ever an age when one had the right to be. Personally she had no idea of enduring his obstinate attitude, or being responsible for what he might be doing.
There was one person whose authority Billy would be obliged to respect, and that was his father’s. Mrs. Burton had not mentioned her intention to her sister, but she was now on her way to telegraph him. Would he come to them, or was Billy to be sent home?
In spite of her absorption in family affairs she was annoyed, as she approached the hotel, to find the front veranda crowded with tourists.
If only she could make way through them without being observed!
Certainly Polly Burton appreciated the fact that she was neither a very beautiful or impressive person to behold, and that, except for her reputation as a celebrated actress, she would never be annoyed with undue observation. But one had to take into consideration the fact that one’s face had appeared on billboards in nearly every large city in the country and that people were not blind and also possessed memories. Moreover, although Mrs. Burton was not herself aware of it, the power of her personality and great gift were evident in her appearance. If one looked at her closely she would hold your interest and attention as no statuesquely beautiful person ever could.
Mrs. Burton was dressed quietly in a brown cloth suit, such as any traveler would have worn. Nevertheless she saw people staring and heard them whispering to one another as she walked up on the porch.
The next instant a young man came toward her. It was Ralph Marshall.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Burton?” he inquired.
Polly nodded emphatically.
“Yes; do get me out of this crowd and into a quiet place where I can attend to some things I have come here for, before anybody speaks to me,” she urged. “I have so much on my mind at present that if I am asked to behave like a distinguished character should, even for an instant, I am sure to disgrace myself and my profession.”
The next moment she and Ralph had found a small, deserted parlor toward the back of the hotel.
“Is there anything more I can do to be of service?” he inquired.
Mrs. Burton looked relieved.
“Why, yes, Ralph, there are several things, if you are not too busy to give me some of your time,” she returned.
Ralph shook his head. “No; I am not busy,” he answered, with an inflection the older woman did not notice.
“Then will you find the hotel physician for me. Peggy isn’t well and I wish him to come over to see her at the camp.”
For a moment Ralph Marshall hesitated and seemed about to say something, but instead turned and walked slowly out of the room. At the door, however, he paused.
“I’ll find out and be back in a few moments,” he returned.
He remained away longer, but Mrs. Burton was hardly aware of it. She was thinking too deeply. Now, that she had arrived at the door of her decision and was ready to open it, she had half an idea of turning back.
To telegraph her brother-in-law that Billy was being difficult to handle meant the end of Billy’s stay in the West. And, like a good many other persons with tempers, Mrs. Burton was ridiculously tender hearted.
Billy greatly needed the change of climate and the life outdoors he had been leading. He was too frail and was lately growing into a tall, delicate reed of a boy, as unlike the ordinary boy as it was possible for one of them to be.
But, with all his obstinacies and peculiarities Polly Burton knew that she was more interested in him than she was in Dan, who was more satisfactory in every way and never troublesome.
Then suddenly, sitting alone here in the small hotel parlor, she recalled a circumstance of her own life. For an entire year she had made a secret of her own acts, indeed of her own whereabouts, hiding the knowledge from her friends and from her family, excepting only her mother, in order that she might accomplish her desire without criticism.
She had wanted to learn to act and had felt that she could go through the discipline she needed with a better courage if she had neither assistance nor advice. And she had been right.
Now could it be possible that at the present time Billy was being obstinate and secretive for some reason which he felt was justifiable? In all probability he was mistaken; but, even so, had one not better allow him a little more liberty? Billy had done a number of extraordinary things in his life and also a number of wrong ones; but to explain them he always had some queer theory of his own which he had seriously worked out. He did not act impulsively and he was as clean and as spiritually gallant as a seraph.
Nevertheless, Mrs. Burton had not reached a decision when Ralph Marshall re-entered the room. For there was always her Sister Mollie’s peace of mind to be considered, and the danger that Billy with his absurd ideas might get himself into real trouble.
“The doctor will be here to speak to you in about five minutes, Mrs. Burton, if you can wait so long,” Ralph reported, taking a chair near her.
He looked so unlike his usual self that, for the first time since their meeting, his companion’s attention was arrested.
Ordinarily Ralph Marshall had a debonair air of self-satisfaction and happiness, as if he were pleased with himself and with the world’s pleasure in him – at least his own world, for few of us ever think far beyond it. He was not disagreeable or half so inane as this idea suggests. For the facts were that Ralph Marshall was handsome, charming, and extremely rich. He had always had everything he wished without making the least effort to obtain it. People had always seemed to like him, and girls and women had undeniably spoiled him. So it was not extraordinary that he had a fairly amiable opinion of himself.
However, today Ralph’s face wore another expression; instead of appearing pleased he looked extremely out of sorts with himself, and with everything and everybody.
“Is Peggy very ill?” he asked, endeavoring to speak with careless politeness, but finding himself coloring as he put the conventional question.
Mrs. Burton shook her head.
“No; Peggy says there is nothing the matter, and perhaps she is right. It is only that I am absurdly uneasy when there is the least change in her. Recently she has not looked very well and has not been so agreeable as she ordinarily is. There does not seem anything else I think of as an explanation, except that she is ill.”
Ralph did not flush a second time, but instead had an unexpected sense of well being. At least he had been right in his estimate of Peggy Webster. Whatever he might be himself she was the real thing. Evidently not a word of betrayal of him and his treatment of her had passed her lips. Peggy knew that he valued Mrs. Burton’s and her mother’s friendship, and that he would have been placed in an uncomfortable position with his own family, if they had ceased their friendly attitude toward him.
“What is the matter with you, Ralph?” Mrs. Burton inquired unexpectedly.
This was his opportunity, nevertheless Ralph evaded it.
“Oh, I have had a disagreeable letter from the governor,” he answered. “Every once and a while father gets down on me and writes that he will cast me off with the proverbial penny, if I don’t find out what kind of work I want to do and start at it. Sometimes it isn’t an easy job to be the only son of a self-made man. When a man thinks he has made himself he is apt to think he can make everybody else do his way.”
“Do you hate the thought of work so much, Ralph?” Mrs. Burton queried.
She did not speak in a disagreeable fashion, merely in a questioning one.
And Ralph Marshall found himself fascinated, watching the color and warmth in her face.
“Do you know I am awfully sorry for people who feel in that way. I don’t suppose you can realize this while you are young, but, as one grows older, doing one’s work is half the joy of living. Still, I don’t mean to preach. I believe the girls say, the fact that I don’t is my chief value as a Camp Fire guardian.”
“I wish you would preach to me,” Ralph answered, “or at least let me talk to you. Because a fellow does not say anything, you need not think he does not realize what a wonderful person you are! It must be great to be famous and to know you have done it all yourself. As for me, it isn’t that I hate work. I don’t know anything about it. The difficulty is getting down to finding out what I want to do.”
Polly Burton nodded, just as Polly O’Neill would have done, with a quick look of understanding.
“Sometimes it is hard luck being born rich, Ralph. But I wouldn’t let it be too much for me, if I were you. Start at anything that comes your way and afterwards you’ll find the right thing. Do you mind my quoting something to you? You see it is my business to repeat what other people write.”
Ralph did not seem to think acquiescence on his part necessary.
This was the first conversation he had ever held alone with Mrs. Burton and he was entirely under the spell of her personal charm. And yet it seemed extraordinary to him that so great a personage could be so simple and unaffected.
Mrs. Burton also took his agreement for granted, for she went on:
“I learned the verse for Billy’s and Dan’s delectation, but I am trying it first on you. I don’t suppose you have read an extraordinary but uncomfortable book called ‘The Spoon River Anthology?’”
Mrs. Burton naturally made no effort at recitation, which, under the circumstances, would have been ridiculous. She merely repeated the verse as any one else would have done, except that it was impossible for her to change the beautiful quality of her voice.
“My boy, wherever you are,
Work for your soul’s sake,
That all the clay of you, all the dross of you,
May yield to the fire of you,
Till the fire is nothing but light!
Nothing but light!”
To his amazement Ralph Marshall felt tears in his eyes.
“Mrs. Burton, I want to tell you something,” he announced as unexpectedly to himself as to her.
Then, without attempting in any way to exonerate himself, Ralph Marshall told the story of his wager and the effort he had made to win Peggy’s liking, in order to gratify his own vanity.
“It is a nice sensation to find you are a cad, Mrs. Burton, and that the girl you have more respect and more liking for than any other you have ever known thinks so too. Besides, I have recently been informed of the fact by Howard Brent and, as I happened to agree with his judgment of me, I couldn’t very well argue the question with him to my own satisfaction.”
“No,” Mrs. Burton replied, “you couldn’t well argue a fact.”
She was extremely angry with Ralph herself as he told his story.
She would have been scornful in any case, but that he should have chosen Peggy as his game was a little more than her spirit could endure.
But a few moments later she was really sorry for her companion.
Ralph attempted no apology, or excused himself by extenuating circumstances.
“Oh well, Ralph, you need not look as if you had committed all the crimes in the calendar. All of us fall from grace now and then; only, if I were you, I wouldn’t chose this kind again.”
Mrs. Burton had risen from her chair.
“I can’t wait for that tiresome doctor any longer. I think I want to send a telegram, although I am actually not yet sure.”
Her lips twitched with a slightly whimsical grimace at herself. But Ralph Marshall had scarcely noticed her words or her expression.
“Do you think there is anything I can do to make up in any way, Mrs. Burton?” he asked. “Of course, I don’t expect Peggy to have faith in me or care for my friendship again. But I would like to be of some service to one of you, principally for my own self-respect,” he added. “But, of course, there is nothing I can do. I am not much good because Peggy actually saved me from falling the other day, when it should have been the other way round.”
Mn. Burton was thinking quickly, as she usually did.
“There is a favor you can do for me, Ralph; I have just thought of it,” she answered. “I know I can trust you to keep what you find out a secret, and Peggy will appreciate it as well. Don’t allow yourself to think that, because you were capable of doing one ugly thing, you are capable of continuing to do them. That impression has ruined many a human being.
“My extremely trying nephew, Billy Webster, has lately turned himself into a mystery. I think his mother and I have the right to know where he goes each day and what he is doing. He refuses to tell us. If you will find out and not speak of it, except to me, I don’t think it will be playing unfair with Billy, and it may save us all a good deal. But I’ll try to have a talk with the young man tonight, to persuade him to confide in me. In any case will you come over to camp early in the morning, Ralph? I won’t telegraph – at least I won’t telegraph today. I’ll leave a message at the desk for the doctor.”
But, at this instant, the hotel physician entered the room.
