Читать книгу More Than Conqueror (Musaicum Romance Classics) - Grace Livingston Hill - Страница 5

Table of Contents

Mrs. Felton and Mrs. Bruce had arrived early at the Red Cross room, had hung their wraps in a convenient place and settled down in the pleasantest situation they could find.

They arranged their working paraphernalia comfortably and looked around with satisfaction.

"I wonder where Blythe Bonniwell is," said Mrs. Felton as she took out her thimble and scissors and settled her glasses over her handsome nose. "She's always so early, and she seems so interested in the work. It's unusual, don't you think, for one so young and pretty to seem so really in earnest."

"Well, of course, that's the fashion now, to be interested in anything that has to do with war work. They tell me she's always at the canteens evenings. She's very popular with the young soldiers," said Mrs. Bruce, with pursed lips. "She won't last, you'll see. I'm not surprised she isn't here."

"Well, somehow, I can't help feeling that Blythe is somewhat different from the common run of young girls. I don't believe she'll lose interest," said Mrs. Felton, giving a troubled glance out the window that opened on the street.

"Well, she isn't here, is she? You mark my words, she'll begin to drop out pretty soon. They all do, unless they have really joined up with the army or navy and have to keep at it. This is probably the beginning already for Blythe."

"I hope not," signed Mrs. Felton. "I'm sure I don't know what we'll do if she doesn't come to-day."

"Why is she so important?" demanded Anne Houghton, who had just come in and was taking off her hat and powdering her nose. "I'm sure she doesn't do so much more work than the rest of us." There was haughtiness and almost a shade of contempt in Anne's tone.

Mrs. Felton gave her a quick inspecting glance.

"Why, she put away the materials last night, and I don't see what she has done with the new needles. I can't find them anywhere, and we can't sew without needles. The one I have has a blunt point."

"Oh, I see!" said Anne. "Well, I should think she was rather presumptuous, taking charge of all the needles. She sat down in the third best chair in the room. "Who does she think she is, anyway? Just because she's Judge Bonniwell's daughter and has plenty of money and has Dan Seavers dancing attendance on her at all hours. I can't think what he sees in her, anyway, little colorless thing, so stuck on her looks that she won't even use the decent cosmetics that everybody else uses. She'd be a great deal more attractive if she would at least use a little lipstick."

Mrs. Felton gave Anne another withering glance and went to the sewing machine to oil it and put it in running order for the day, not even attempting an answer.

"Well, what do you suppose she can have done with those needles?" asked Mrs. Bruce, rising to the occasion. "My needle has a blunt point, too. I don't see how so many of them got that way. They can't be very good needles."

"Well, if you ask me," said Mrs. Noyes, who had just come in, "I think it was that child Mrs. Harper brought with her yesterday. He picked up every needle and pin he could find in the place and drove them into the cake of soap they gave him to play with—the idea! Soap! For a baby! And scarce as soap is now in wartimes!"

"Well, but soap ought not to make needles blunt," said Mrs. Felton.

"Oh, he didn't stop at the soap," said Mrs. Noyes, with a sniff. "He had a toy hammer with him, and when he got his cake of soap all full he started in on the table and the floor and tried a few on the wheel of the sewing machine. I declare, I got so nervous I thought I should fly. I was so glad when she decided she had to take her child home for his lunch. I don't know why he needed any lunch, though. He had bread and butter and sticky cake and chocolate candy and a banana along, and he just ate continually, and kept coming around and leaning over my sewing and smearing it with grease and chocolate. I had to take that little nightgown I was working on home and wash it out before I could hand it in. I don't think we ought to allow women to bring their children along. They're an awful hindrance."

"But some women couldn't come without them. They have no one to leave them with at home," said another good woman.

"Let them take their children to the nursery then," said Mrs. Noyes, with a pin in her mouth. "Mrs. Harper thinks her child is too good to go to a nursery with the other children!"

"What I want to know is, what are we going to do about those needles?" said Anne Houghton. "Here I am ready to sew, and no needles!"

"I think I'll call up Blythe Bonniwell and ask what she did with them," said Mrs. Felton. "I've looked simply everywhere, and I can't find them. She must have taken them home with her."

And without further ado Mrs. Felton went to the telephone, while all the room full of ladies sat silent, listening to see what would happen.

"What did you do with the new needles last night, Blythe?" asked Mrs. Felton severely, getting so close to the phone that her voice was sharp and rasping. "I've looked simply everywhere for them. And you know we can't work without needles. You must have taken them home with you."

"The needles? Why, no, Mrs. Felton, I didn't take them home. They are right there on the shelf where you had them before," said Blythe pleasantly.

"The shelf?" said Mrs. Felton more sharply. "What shelf?"

"Why, the shelf right over where you were sitting yesterday, Mrs. Felton."

"Well, you're mistaken, Miss Bonniwell. There isn't a needle in sight, and I'm looking right at the shelf."

"Oh, Mrs. Felton. But I'm sure I put them right there in plain sight. Someone must have moved them."

"No," said Mrs. Felton coldly. "No one could have moved them, for there hasn't been anyone here to move them, and we have looked just everywhere. I wish you would come right over and find them. You know we have simply got to have those needles, for there is not another one to be had in this town, and we haven't any of us time to go into the city after them. You know needles are scarce these days. I wish you'd look in your handbag and see if you didn't take them home with you."

"No, I didn't bring them home," said Blythe decidedly. "I know I didn't."

"Very well then, come over here at once and find those needles! I shall hold you personally responsible for them."

"All right," said Blythe indignantly. "I'll be right over!"

So Blythe caught up her hat and coat, snatched her handbag from the bureau where she had put it last night when she came in, and hurried away, calling to Susan that she was going to her Red Cross work.

When she walked into the Red Cross room, the ladies were all sitting there in various stages of obvious impatience. They had purposely so arranged themselves for a rebuke as soon as Anne Houghton announced, "There she comes at last! My word! It is high time!"

But Blythe was anything but rebuked as she entered with that delightful radiance on her happy face, for she had been thinking about her new joy all the way down, and her thoughts had lent wings to her feet.

So, as she entered, the ladies sat in a row and blinked, for perhaps the brightness of her face dazzled them for an instant.

"Well, so you've come at last!" said Mrs. Bruce disagreeably. "Now, get to work, and find those needles if you can. We've looked everywhere."

Blythe's glance went swiftly to the shelf over Mrs. Bruce's head.

"But—why, there they are! Just where I told you they were!" she said triumphantly.

"What do you mean?" snapped Mrs. Felton. "I don't see any needles."

"Why, in that blue box. Don't you remember, we took the whole box because we were afraid we wouldn't be able to get more later when we needed them."

"That blue box?" said Mrs. Felton, jumping up and going over to seize the box from the shelf. "Why I supposed those were safety pins. I don't understand."

She took down the box and opened it, and her face took on a look of utter amazement.

"My word!" she said slowly. "I certainly don't understand. I supposed, of course, these were safety pins that Mrs. Huyler brought. Well, then, where are they?"

"She took them home again when she found this wasn't a nursery," said Mrs. Bruce grimly. "She said she would take them to a place she knew needed them."

"Well, upon my word!" said Mrs. Felton again. "I guess you're right, and I was the one to blame. I certainly ask your pardon, Blythe."

"Oh, that's all right," laughed Blythe, swinging off her coat and hat and taking the first empty chair that presented itself. "Now, where do I begin? Do you need more buttonholes made, or shall I run a machine?"

"Make buttonholes," snapped Anne, handing over the baby's nightgown she had been set to finish. "I just hate them, and anyway, I always make them crooked. I don't see why poor babies have to have buttonholes anyway. Why can't they use safety pins? I'd rather buy a gross of them and donate them than have to make a single buttonhole."

"Oh, I don't mind buttonholes," said Blythe pleasantly. "That was one thing I learned to do when I was a little girl. We had a seamstress who made beautiful ones, and she taught me."

"Well, I'm sure you're welcome to do them all for me," said Anne disagreeably.

And it was just then that the telephone rang, and Anne, being on her feet, answered it. She always liked to answer the phone. It gave her a line to other people's business, and that was usually interesting.

"Yes?" she drawled as she took down the receiver. "Red Cross Sewing Class. "Who? Who did you say? Miss Bonniwell? Yes, she's here. Who shall I say wants her?"

But Blythe, with cheeks like lovely roses, was on her feet beside the telephone.

"I'll take it," she said smiling, as she gathered the receiver into her hand.

"Well, you needn't snatch it so," said Anne, turning angrily away just as she was trying to identify the voice as Dan Seaver's.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Blythe, her cheeks flaming crimson. "I didn't mean to snatch."

But Anne turned away with her head held high and went over to select a needle for her own use.

So the room held its breath to listen to the telephone conversation.

"Yes?" said Blythe quietly into the instrument, though she couldn't keep the lilt out of her voice, for she hoped she knew just who was calling her, though, of course, it might be her mother or Susan from home.

"Is that you, Blythe?" The voice on the wire was cautious, tentative.

"It certainly is," said Blythe, with a light ripple of a laugh.

"Are you alone?" Again the voice was very guarded, low. Even the most attentive listener could not have understood what came from the other end of the wire, for Blythe was cupping her hand about the receiver, which was most annoying to Mrs. Bruce. She severely shook her head at Mrs. Felton, who ventured to interrupt the performance by asking a question about which buttons were to go on the little nightgowns they were making.

But Blythe's voice was clear, without confusion.

"Oh no, I'm sorry!" she answered brightly. "But—you weren't late, were you?"

"No, I got here in plenty of time. The train was late, I found I had a few minutes to spare, and I wanted to hear your voice again, even if we couldn't speak privately."

"Oh, that's nice of you!" said Blythe graciously. "Don't forget to write that down for further reference," and she rippled out her bewildering laughter again.

"No, I won't forget," came the man's voice, louder and clearer than before. "I'll write that down as soon as I get on my way, and I'll see that it gets to the proper person. And by the way, will you kindly think over what I told you, and see if you can possibly respond to my suggestion?"

"Oh—yes—I'll do that," said Blythe in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'll take pleasure in doing that, and I'll let you know later what I think."

Blythe was talking in a very off-hand tone, and she had a feeling that her eyes were twinkling over her words and across the space between them, as if he could see her and understand why she was speaking in such veiled language. But her heart was warm and happy over his voice, even though she had to strain her ears to identify every word.

"That's good of you," said the man's voice, falling into the game easily. "I'm glad to have had this little talk with you—this chance to explain."

"Yes," said Blythe, smiling into the receiver. "It was so good of you to call. But how did you know where to find me?"

"Oh, I called the house first and the servant gave me the number," he explained.

"Oh, yes, of course," said Blythe, letting her voice linger, glad to have the brief interlude drawn out to its utmost, knowing the listeners would not understand. "Well, it was nice of you to take all that trouble to find me and let me know."

‘Oh, it was a pleasure, I assure you," spoke the young man. "And you are sure you won't forget?"

"Oh no, I won't forget," lilted Blythe. "And—I hope you—are successful!" Those last words were spoken guardedly, very low, her tone full of feeling, as she gave a quick glance about the silent room full of women, sewing steadily without a word.

Suddenly the man's voice spoke sharply, almost breathlessly:

"Well, I hear it coming! I must go! Is there any chance you might be at home later in the day or evening, if I had the opportunity to call again?"

"Oh yes," she breathed softly, "after two o'clock and all the evening. Yes, I'll be at home."

"Of course it may not be possible for me to call, but I'll try. Good-bye—dearest!"

Could that last whispered word be heard by the audience? Blythe held her head high and didn't care. What did all these women know or care about her and her precious, beautiful affairs?

Then she hung up the receiver, and walked steadily over to Mrs. Bruce.

"Have you one of those buttons I'm to make buttonholes for, Mrs. Bruce? I must get to work and make up for lost time."

She took the proffered button and went smilingly over to an empty chair, without a sign of the lovely tumult in her heart.

Then those frustrated women sat and sewed away, and occasionally lifted baffled eyes and glared at one another, as much as to say, "Does that Blythe Bonniwell think she can get away with a thing like this as easily as all that?"

And at last Anne lifted her head with a toss and sang out clearly for them all to hear. "Well, who was your friend? It was Dan Seavers, wasn't it? I was sure I knew his voice. Are you and he going to the benefit concert at the arena to-night? I suppose that's what he called up about. I don't see why you had to hedge about answering him that way. I'm curious to know if he succeeded in getting tickets after waiting all this time. And I think I know where he could get a couple if he didn't. I know somebody who has some who has to leave town to-night. Do you think he would like them?"

Blythe looked up with a distant little smile.

"Why, I wouldn't know, Anne," she said. "That wasn't Dan calling."

"Well, who was it then, with a voice so much like Dan's?"

"Oh, it was just one of my friends in the air corps," said Blythe easily. "I don't think you would know him. He was only here on a brief furlough."

Anne looked at her curiously.

"Oh, yes?" she said contemptuously, but Blythe was too happy to be ruffled by her contempt and went on making buttonholes with a radiance upon her lovely face that defied the scrutiny, furtive or open, of all those women. She went happily through the morning, thinking her pleasant thoughts. True, Charlie Montgomery was going from her, but he was leaving his love in her heart, and for the present that was all she needed to give her joy.

And thus, thinking her happy thoughts, Blythe's morning went forward with its business, and at last was over, so that she was free to go on to her home and wait for whatever might be in store.

Dearest. Had he really said that? She hugged the memory to her heart.

But back in the room she had left, where the other women were purposely idling about, putting on their wraps, and getting ready to leave, there was a significant silence until the sound of her footsteps died away in the distance and the ordinary routine noises of the street assured them that Blythe was well out of hearing. Then they relaxed almost audibly.

"Well," said Mrs. Bruce grimly, "she certainly has more brass! Imagine her sitting here sewing after she had been through that playacting on the telephone. Was that really Dan who called her, Anne?"

Anne Houghton shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, I certainly thought it was. But why on earth she considered she had to tell a lie about it, I'm sure I don't know. It wouldn't of much importance, would it? We all know she runs after him day in and day out."

"I don't think she does," said Mrs. Felton. "She's too well bred to run after anybody. Remember, Anne, her mother is a lady."

Anne shrugged again. "That's not saying she is one," she said.

"What makes you hate her so?" asked Mrs. Felton, looking gravely, steadily at Anne.

"Oh, I don't hate her," laughed Anne. "I don't give the matter that much importance. I merely think she's so smug, and she does like to give big impressions about herself. See to-day how determined she was to let us think that was some soldier she was talking to, one of those soldiers she's hostess to up at the canteen. She wants us to think that she can flirt around like the other girls."

"She doesn't flirt at the canteen," said Mrs. Stanton gravely. "I go there every night, and I've never seen her do anything out of the way."

"And I guess you'll find that Blythe is busy some nights doing evening hospital work or something of that sort. Isn't she? I'm sure I heard that," said Mrs. Felton.

"Oh, really? I think you must be mistaken. I saw her out with Dan Seaver last night and also the night before." That from Anne.

"Well, I suppose she must have some nights off. Most of them do, don't they?"

"I'm sure I wouldn't know," said Anne coldly. "But for heaven's sake, don't let's talk about that girl anymore. I'm fed up with her. She gets on my nerves every time I see her. Just say she's a paragon and let it go at that. If that's what you like in a girl, then that's what you like. Good-bye. I'm going out to lunch and I'm late now." Anne slammed out of the door, her high heels clicking as she hurried away.

Mrs. Felton and Mrs. Bruce walked slowly down the street behind Anne and watched the arrogant swing of her shoulders till she vanished around the next corner. Then after a pause Mrs. Felton said, "Young people are awfully rude nowadays, don't you think?"

"I certainly do," said Mrs. Bruce, with a heavy sigh. "It's the one thing that makes me glad my daughter died when she was a child, so she wouldn't have to live to grow up in this impudent age."

Mrs. Felton uttered a sympathetic little sound and walked thoughtfully on until they parted.