Читать книгу Concerning Sally - William John Hopkins - Страница 15

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Fox was not immediately able to compass the end that was so much to be desired, but he did it, at last, not without misgivings. If Professor Ladue had known, what would he have thought—and said—about such interference with his domestic affairs? There were misgivings on Mrs. Ladue's part, too, and Fox had to overcome those. She was in no condition to combat Fox's wish, poor lady!—especially as it was her own wish, so far as she had any wish in the matter; and she knew that Sally had her heart set upon it. This is the way it happened.

Sally had been regular in her attendance at the dancing-class, all winter, and she had applied herself conscientiously to learn what she went to learn, with more or less success. There is no doubt that she learned the steps, but there is no less doubt that she failed to get the Spirit of Dancing. Indeed—I speak with hesitation—the Spirit of Dancing is born, not made. And how should Sally get it if she did not have it already? How should she get it if she did have it already, for that matter? It is not a thing that can be bought; it resembles happiness in that respect. And, although one may buy a very fair kind of an imitation of either, the real thing comes from within. Henrietta had had the Spirit of Dancing born in her; in regard to Sally there is some doubt.

So, if Sally's success was not glittering, it was better than Henrietta had feared it would be, and she breathed a sigh of relief at the close of the last day. Sally breathed a sigh of relief, too. She was unaffectedly glad that it was over. Mrs. Ladue, then experiencing one of her ups, planned a party for Sally and invited the whole dancing-class to it. It was to be a birthday party and was to be on the nineteenth of April, when Sally would have completed her eleventh year. Sally had always been glad that her birthday happened to come on the nineteenth of April, for it was a great help in remembering Leading Dates in American History—or one of them, at least.

They neglected to apprise the professor of the plan, no doubt through forgetfulness. For, how could he fail to be pleased that his daughter was to have a birthday party? He did not find it out until the seventeenth, two days before the event, and then only through the inadvertence of the caterer, who asked him some question about it. The caterer was a new man. He had been employed by Mr. Sanderson. Upon hearing this announcement and without giving the man any reply to his questions, Professor Ladue rushed off to town. He did not even leave word, at home, that Mrs. Ladue must not be alarmed if he failed to make his train. Fox happened to see him walking to and fro on the station platform, evidently fuming, and to guess where he was going and why.

We may be very sure that Fox did not tell Mrs. Ladue, but she found it out the next morning and immediately proceeded to have a down. The up having had its turn, the down was due, of course, but it was a very bad down. Fox telephoned for Doctor Galen.

Doctor Galen came out that afternoon. Sally had not been told, but she knew, somehow, and she was waiting for him by the gate.

"Doctor," she said, "will you let me get you anything that you want and—and wait on mother? Will you?"

The doctor smiled down at her. "Why, my dear little girl—" he began, looking into the earnest gray eyes. He did not finish as he had intended. "I thank you," he said. "If I need anything, you shall get it for me. And you shall wait upon your mother to your heart's content. But I can't tell how much waiting upon she will need until I have seen her."

"Thank you!" Sally cried softly. "I'm glad. I'll take you to mother." They started towards the house together. "Oh, I forgot," she added, turning toward him. "I'm Sally Ladue."

The doctor smiled down at her once more. "I gathered as much," he replied, "putting this and that together. I guess that your mother and your father are proud of their little girl."

"I don't think that father is," Sally returned soberly.

The doctor's eyes twinkled. "Why, that would be very strange. By the way, where is your father? In town, at the college?"

Sally flushed to the roots of her hair. "I think he is in town," she answered, looking carefully straight before her.

"Of course, he must have classes." The doctor had noted that fiery flush and had drawn his inference. "One would think," he continued, more to himself than to Sally, "that—er—one would think—" It was none of his business, he reflected, and he could not see, for the life of him, how—"Which is your mother's room, Sally?"

They were just entering the house and the doctor was pulling off his gloves.

"Oh, I'll take you up."