Isabel Carleton's friends

Front matter

- i

—

I

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I The Promise of Spring i

II A Green Plate and a Yellow Jar . . . 16

Chapter I

O NE April afternoon, Isabel Carleton and Meta Houston emerged, talking and laughing, from Main Hall, which crowned the hill at the great State University at Jefferson. Their college classes were over for the day, and they were ready to take a leisurely course homeward. The day was clear and brilliant. The sun was warm without being oppressive, and the fresh spring wind blew across the lake in long caressing gusts that fluttered the garments of the students who were straggling down the Hill.

The two girls paused at the top of the slope, and looked down the campus, where the grass had thrown a thin wave of green over the brown herbage of the year before. The lines of elms which bordered the walks were faintly touched with the color of new leaves, and the maples showed a burst of carmine buds. The rows of trees continued, past the Library and the Administration Building, and down State Street to the marble Capitol, a mile away.

“ How bright it seems, after the dull class-rooms,” said Isabel. “ I always wonder why people want to bother with things in books, when the world is so fascinating out-of-doors.”

“ That’s what I think,” answered Meta. “ When a spring day like this comes on, I wonder why I’m not riding a broncho in Montana, instead of walking primly around with my two feet on a sidewalk.”

“ It must be wonderful to ride over the plains like that,” replied Isabel half-enviously ; — “just to go sweeping along with the wind in your hair, and the blue horizon in your eyes, — I could become almost poetic even thinking about it.”

“ It is wonderful and poetic,” said Meta with a sigh. “ Maybe you’ll have a chance to see what it is like, yourself. And yet,” she went on more briskly, “ it’s splendid here, Isabel. I love Jefferson, and I love the University, and I love you ! ”

Isabel turned and smiled at her companion. Meta’s dark hair and her handsome defiant face were in striking contrast to the blond coloring and quiet gray eyes of Isabel. Meta was wearing a very fresh and stylish suit, and a black hat with a stiff red quill, which gave her a dashing look; the younger girl was dressed more simply in blue serge, and a hat with a wreath of foliage and berries.

“ We’re glad we found each other, aren’t we, Meta?” said Isabel. “It’s queer how offish we were at first, and how suspiciously we regarded each other ! ” The decided differences in the types of the two girls had caused some of their acquaintances to marvel at their friendship.

“ I don’t know that it is so queer, considering,”

Meta replied. “ I wasn’t very nice to you. I don’t know what possessed me.”

“ Nor I to you,” echoed Isabel. “ But I do know what possessed me. However — why speak of what’s over? Have you decided what you are going to wear in the third act? ”

“ Oh, that’s what I wanted to ask you about,” said Meta quickly. “ I thought of a lovely gown — corn-colored satin, with tulle draperies of the same tone, and gold lace. Don’t you think that would be right? Althea is supposed to have dressed herself up rather gorgeously, so as to make an impression on her guests, you know.”

u I think that would be perfect,” Isabel answered, her eyes alight with the vision of the gorgeous gown. “ It sounds absolutely comme il fant. And you’ll look like a — a bird of paradise in it, Meta ! ”

“ Well, I shan’t be in Paradise, though,” said Meta with a grimace. “ I can never tell when I’m going to have stage fright.”

“ You always seem so self-possessed.”

“ There are times when my behavior conceals my feelings. About the dress — I thought I’d better plan it a long time beforehand, so that I could get the right dressmaker, and not have any complications at the last.”

The girls walked on down the Hill, discussing the Red Domino play in which, somewhat later, Meta was to have a leading part. Presently they came to the street that led to Isabel’s home. “ Come on with me,” said Isabel, shifting her books, which were heavy tomes on historical subjects; “it’s awfully early yet, — look at the sun. We’ll be having tea, you know, and besides, I want to tell you about something I’ve planned.”

“ I don’t need to be urged,’! laughed Meta. “ But I sometimes wonder whether your mother doesn’t imagine she has another daughter — I’m at her house so much.”

“ She loves to have you there,” Isabel returned. “ If all her daughters gave her as little trouble as you do, she wouldn’t have much to think about.”

“ She’s been splendid to me,” said Meta wistfully. “ I almost feel sometimes as if I had a mother of my own.”

“ I’m glad I can share mine with you.” Isabel gave Meta’s arm a pat with her free hand. In her heart she was saying, “ How dreadful not to have a mother ! How can she bear the thought? ”

They walked silently down the street until they came to the simple white house in which the Carletons lived. Isabel ran up the steps and threw open the door, with the whoo-hoo that was a family signal.

The voice of Mrs. Carleton floated down the stairs, though she herself could not be seen. “ Is that you, Isabel? ”

“ Yes, Honey-Mother, and I’ve brought Meta. We’re going to plan a Hesperian garden in the back yard.”

“ I’m not sure that I know what kind that is, but I’ll take it for granted. I’m glad you came, Meta. Stay for tea, won’t you? ”

“Yes, indeed, I shall, thank you,” called Meta.

Isabel put her books on the hall table, and the two girls went through the house, and out at the dining room door to the side porch, thence to the back yard. “ Ah, the lovely sunshine again,’’ breathed Isabel. “ Thank heaven our long winter is over ! Good day, Mr. Hogan.”

“ Good day to ye, ma’am,” answered Mr. Hogan, with his pipe in his teeth; both his hands were occupied with the task of fastening the rambler roses against the trellis at the back of the house. Mr. Hogan was a small Irish man-of-all-work whom the Carletons employed on various occasions.

“ Did father ask you to spade up the garden for me, a little later? ” asked Isabel.

“ He did that, Miss, and I’ll be at it before I’m many days older. I hear ye’re keen for raisin’ things this year.”

“ I am keen for it,” admitted Isabel cheerfully. “ I’m going to do wonders here in the garden.”

Mr. Hogan grunted. u The ladies is always keen for a garden before weedin’ time comes,” he mumbled. “ They’re all right for what you may call initial enthusiasm, but they fall down when it’s a question of sustaining the situation.” His eyes twinkled as he looked over his shoulder at the girls.

“ You’ll see that I’m different,” protested Isabel, somewhat chagrined at the little man’s frank skepticism.

“ Yes, they all think they are.” Isabel was a great favorite with Mr. Hogan, but he had known her since her childhood, and felt privileged to tease her. “ But by the time ye’ve got your pretty white fingers all dir-rty, and your back’s achin’ like a sore tooth, you’ll be glad to call on Hogan, so ye will.”

“You’ll see!” repeated Isabel, with a laugh. She turned to Meta, who had been listening to the conversation with a smile of appreciation. “ You believe in me, anyway, don’t you, Lady Clara Vere de Vere?”

“ Of course I do, on general principles,” said Meta. “ I’ll have to hear more about this particular plan. Oh, there’s a blue-bird ! What a jewel of a color 1 ”

“ Lovely thing! ” Isabel stood watching the bit of exquisite blue fluttering in the shrubbery. Her face was rapt. “ I wonder if he dreams how beautiful he is? There! he has flitted away, and left us all-forlorn. Now listen, Meta: I’m going to have a garden of my own this spring. I’ve been meditating about it in the still watches of the night, as the poets say. I think I ought to get out and have that much contact with the earth.”

“ As busy as you are? ” said Meta doubtfully.

“Well, of course I’m scandalously busy; but I feel that this is important. I can eliminate a few silly teas, or some strolls around the Square, or chats about nothing in the corridors of Main Hall.”

“ Those things may not be so easily eliminated as you suppose,” Meta replied. “You can’t stop a person in the middle of his remarks, and say, ‘ Excuse me, but I haven’t time to listen to you; I have to go home and weed the onions ’ ! ”

“ I could,” said Isabel stoutly. “ And anyway, I’m not going to have onions. It’s a lot easier to say, ‘ Kindly pardon my seeming lack of appreciation of your stimulating discourse; but I find that I must now seek my domestic shelter, and minister to the needs of my forget-me-nots.’ ”

“ That sounds better. But even so, I doubt whether anybody, especially a man, would ever make another attempt to engage you in social conversation, after a snub like that.”

“ Humph ! If they were so easily scared as that, I don’t think I’d care much about ’em anyway. Besides, I believe the right sort of man would say eagerly, ‘ Oh, do permit me to assist you in this noble work! ’ ”

“ Rodney and George would, I’m sure,” said Meta rather absently. She had stooped to peep between the leaves of some tulips which were sprouting along the walk. “ It won’t be long till they’re in bloom,” she exclaimed. “ And oh, do look ! The irises have a touch of purple in the buds. They’ll blossom in a few days.”

The girls walked on around the garden. “ I wish the clothes-reel didn’t take up so much room,” grumbled Isabel. “ But I suppose it’s a necessary evil. I like the brick wall at the end of the lot, anyway, and those half-grown Lombardy poplars. We can feel rather shut-in and by ourselves.”

“ It’s beyond criticism,” said Meta with a sigh. “ Are those hollyhock stalks over there? ”

“ Yes. You didn’t see them when they were blazing in rows last year, did you? We didn’t know each other then.” Isabel put her hand on Meta’s shoulder. “ Now, look at this arbor. It’s a sad sight. It looked awfully scraggy last fall. I’m going to have quick-growing vines over it — morning-glories and red beans — and we can have tea out here, and read and chat. In Europe, you know, they live out in the garden so much of the time. I don’t think we do it half enough.”

“ There are times when you’d have to live out here with a coal-stove or a swimming-suit,” smiled Meta, who liked to poke fun at Isabel’s enthusiasms.

While the girls stood talking, they heard a whistle from the porch. They turned quickly, and saw Rodney Fox and George Burnham, who had just come out of the house. The young men lifted their hats and came down the path.

“ Good afternoon,” said Rodney. “ Rambling among the roses?” He looked humorously about at the bare stalks and withered leaves of the garden.

“ Rambling where the roses are going to be,” returned Isabel.

“ There are two here, now, at least,” said Burnham, with a bow first to Isabel and then to Meta. The girls laughed and flushed.

“ Why didn’t I think of that? George, you’re a genius,” said Rodney.

“ It’s easy to be, with such inspiration,” retorted George. “ How could any man be less? ”

“ I find it extremely easy to be a good deal less,” complained Rodney. But he looked very happy, in spite of his tone. His brown eyes were bright and eager; and his cheeks showed a healthy red. He wore a Norfolk jacket and the corduroy trousers affected by the engineering students at the University. Burnham, a goodlooking young man with dark blue eyes and a great quantity of reddish brown hair, was dressed conventionally in a business suit.

“ I can only stay a minute,” he went on apologetically. “ I had to go up to the University Library to look up something for my chief, and Rod caught me on the way back.” Burnham was an assistant in the office of the Board of Public Works, at the Capitol. “ You see,” he explained, “ I don’t belong to the idle group of college students who have nothing to do but loaf around.”

“ Loaf ! ” protested Rodney in an injured voice. “Well, I like that. I loaf — about as much as a mule in a tread-mill. If I refresh myself now and then with the society of the ladies, that’s no proof that I’m not a slave to my profession.”

u It proves that you have good judgment as well as leisure,” returned Burnham. “ I used to think that I worked hard in college, but now I see that I was a gilded butterfly of gayety.”

“ Well, don’t argue,” interrupted Isabel. “ Look at my arbor. It’s rather unpromising at present, but I’m going to furbish it up and have all sorts of al fresco goings-on out here.”

“ Isabel yearns for a garden all her own,” put in Meta. “ There was a time when Isabella was contented with a Pot of Basil. Now she wants a whole garden-plot.”

u I can’t imagine whose head she’ll get to put into it,” spoke up Rodney, proud of knowing his Keats. “ I refuse to give up mine. I need it in my business.”

“ Oh, I don’t know,” said George easily. “ Perhaps you’d never miss it.”

Rodney glared. “ Anyway,” he conceded, “ if I lose my head, I’ll know where to look for it.”

“ You’ll be like the man in Pickwick,” cried Isabel merrily. “ You remember, he was eating his lunch on the top of a bus, when they went under a low io Isabel Carletoris Friends

bridge; and all at once, so the book says, he found himself with 4 sandwich in hand, and no mouth to put it in.* If you’ll wait, though, you’ll get one while you have a mouth to put it into. We’re going to have tea out here.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll wait.” Rodney planted himself firmly on a bench.

“ I’m sorry, but I can’t,” said Burnham. “ I have to get back before the office closes. I’m a man of affairs, as I before assured you.”

“ Too bad,” said Rodney, “ just when the ‘ eats ’ are coming on. You don’t show real common sense, Burn.”

“ Trust you, though,” commented Burnham.

“ You’ll come to the vumm?Lge-sz\t-de-luxe for the Belgian Relief to-morrow, won’t you? ” asked Meta. “ I’m going to be a ‘ sales person ’ there, you know — and so is Isabel.”

“ Saturday? Oh, yes. We working men are free on Saturday afternoon. I’ll be there, very willingly.” Burnham was taking a reluctant leave.

“ I’m sorry you have to go,” said the hostess. She walked to the porch with him.

He went around to the front of the house, and Isabel stepped to the kitchen door. “ Olga, kind creature,” she said, looking into the kitchen, “ will you make the tea in the two thermos bottles, and let us know when it’s ready? ”

Olga was putting the roast into the oven. “ Yes, Miss Isabel,” she said, turning her head to give Isabel an assuring smile. “ I have it ready in a minute or two.”

“ Thank you, Olga.” Isabel went back to where

II

Meta and Rodney were talking, as they sat on the bench near the arbor.

“We were just speaking of the University Circus,” said Rodney, as he got up to give Isabel his place. “ It comes next week, you know.”

“ Yes. I’m so glad I can see it,” said Meta. “ I wasn’t here for the last one, since it comes only once in two years.”

“ Nor I,” said Isabel. “ But I’ve seen several. They’re great fun ; and the Engineers always do the lion’s share of the work. What are you going to do to help the cause along, Rod? ”

“ I’m going to be a performing ape.” Rodney crinkled his eyes with amusement.

“ What sport,” laughed Meta. “ Did you really say an ape, Rodney? ”

“ They put people into the roles for which they seem to be best fitted, don’t they, Rod?” Isabel spoke gravely, but her eyes were dancing.

“Now, Isabel, don’t be a cat! It’s no disgrace to appear as an ape. The Monkey Family are our nearest relatives.”

“ What sort of disguise are you going to wear? ” asked Meta.

“ A brown canton costume with a rope tail. I’ll be as good looking an ape as you’ve seen in a long time.”

“ As good looking as most of those that move in University circles,” assented Isabel.

“ I love these college stunts,” Meta cried, buttoning her coat, for the wind was getting cool. “We certainly have had some good times this year, haven’t we?”

“Yes.” Rodney’s face was thoughtful. “It seems selfish to be having such good times when other people are suffering.”

“ But it wouldn’t do any good for more people to suffer,” said Isabel in a practical tone, as if she were defending herself.

“ By the way,” Rodney began again, after a pause, “ I had a letter from Herb this morning.” He was speaking of Herbert Barry, one of his fraternity brothers, who had gone to France, in the fall, to do ambulance work.

“ What did he say? ” asked Isabel eagerly. “ He never sends me anything but cards, you know.”

“ Oh, he’s having a wonderful time — terrible, you know, but thrilling. He says he never knew that living could be so intense — have so much crowded into it. He says one’s own little personal affairs shrink into nothing beside this great catastrophe and the work there is to do.”

“ I suppose so.” Isabel looked absently at the row of withered hollyhock stems against the wall. She was thinking of the hurt which Herbert Barry had carried away in his heart. She wondered if it were healed. It must be, in the midst of events so much more important than one’s own little personal affairs — one’s aspirations and affections.

“ Strange,” Meta was saying — “ a fastidious man like Herbert, with his sensitive nature, enduring the horrors of ambulance service in France.”

“ I don’t know that it is,” returned Rodney quickly. “ People of that kind are often the most self-forgetful, when a great occasion offers.”

A silence fell on the group. It was broken only by the laughter of some children playing in the Lenners’ yard, next door, and a distant whistle from the little steamer on the lake.

“ I sometimes think we ought all to be at it,” said Rodney at last, in a low voice.

The girls did not answer.

Olga came out on the porch and waved. Rodney sprang to his feet, as if relieved, and went to bring the tea. He came back bearing a big tin tray, with the thermos bottles set out upon it; and cups, spoons, sugar, cream, and lemon. Rodney made another trip for the sandwiches and cake.

“ Here, put the tray on top of this barrel,” said Isabel. “ It has been used to shelter the yellow rosebush during the winter. We must have the wicker table brought down from the attic,” she added in a businesslike tone. “ When I get my bower arranged, we’ll be sipping ambrosia out here most of the time.”

“ Is brewing ambrosia one of Olga’s strong points?” murmured Meta. “If not, I think I’ll stick to tea.”

u You don’t seem to think I might be able to brew it,” answered Isabel busy with the cups. “ See if this doesn’t serve the purpose.” She poured out three cups of tea, which steamed in the cool air. The wind had grown fresh and cutting. A robin began to sing loudly in the poplars. “ Bless his little happy heart,” Isabel cried, as she poured a generous supply of cream into her own cup.

Just then Mrs. Carleton came down the walk, in a white wool coat, with a blue veil over her hair. She had very pink cheeks and brown hair with only

H now and then a thread of gray. She walked with the light step of one who finds life very full and very satisfying.

“ We’re so glad you’ve come, mother,” cried Isabel joyfully. “ I had begun to think you’d gone out.”

“ No. I had to telephone a lot of people on some Woman’s Club business. I was detained. Father’s still at the Faculty meeting, I suppose.”

“Take my seat,” entreated Meta.

“ Let me pour you some tea,” said Rodney, reaching for the thermos bottle. “ Drink yours while it’s hot, Isabel.”

In the midst of pleasant chatter, Mrs. Carleton was made to accept repose and refreshment.

The back door opened and slammed, and Celia came romping down the walk in her warm red jersey. She was carrying Bobo, her big gray cat, who stared solemnly from her arms, sniffing the odor of the sandwiches.

“ Oh, I’m so hungry! ” called Celia shrilly. “ I hope you have heaps and heaps of things to eat.”

“ Smaller heaps than we had when we began,” rejoined Isabel; “ but you may have a bite. Here’s a fat sandwich. Put down Big Bobo-Cat.”

Celia dropped the cat, and he climbed at once to the top of the arbor, so that he could fix his greedy gaze on the robin in the poplars. It fluttered its wings in quick alarm, and flew away. Celia, eating her sandwich, called out in derision, “ Serves you right, bad cat ! ” while the others went on with their talk.

“ It seems so good to be out of doors,” said Mrs.

Carleton, “ and to know that we’ve seen the last of winter, for a while, at least.”

“ That’s what we’ve all been exclaiming, individually and collectively,” cried Isabel. “ But it has been an interesting and happy winter to me — after my long year away from home ; it was a long year, even though I was seeing Europe and having the time of my life. It seems only a little while since I got back in September.”

“ We’ve all been so busy, we haven’t noticed how the weeks have flashed away,” said Meta, fixing her dark eyes significantly on Mrs. Carleton. “ It has been the best winter I have ever had — thanks to some dear friends who shall be nameless.”

“ We’re so glad to be together, in these terrible times of separation,” murmured Isabel, putting down her cup and drawing her coat collar up about her throat.

“ We are that,” said Rodney.

The group was silent again. Isabel was thinking of Molly Ramsay and Herbert Barry, both of whom had left the little circle of friends; and one, at least, was never coming back.

“ The sandwiches are all gone,” chirped Celia ; “ and it’s getting awful cold out here. Why don’t we go into the house, and build a fire in the grate? ”

“ We will in a minute, Celia-Bird,” answered Isabel. “ But we want to watch the sun go down.”

Celia ran to find Bobo, who had concealed himself behind the arbor; and the others sat watching the sun dipping down into the clear pale blue of the west. Each one was thinking about the promise of happiness in the coming months of the spring.

CHAPTER II HE “ rummage-sal c-de-luxe,” for the benefit of

A the Belgian Relief, was held on Friday and Saturday of each week; the women of the faculty and of the town brought out all sorts of treasured articles — household goods, wearing apparel, and bits of bric-a-brac, to be sold for the welfare of the suffering Belgians.

On Saturday noon Isabel was collecting the things which she was to take with her that afternoon, when she was to act as a “ saleslady.”

“ Mother,” she called from the pantry, “ here’s that majolica plate that Aunt Felicia gave you. You’re always afraid that it’s going to get broken, and you don’t really like it very well, anyway — it’s so fearfully green. Don’t you think it would be nice to get rid of it? ”

“ Why, I suppose it might as well go,” answered Mrs. Carleton, coming to the pantry door. “ Somebody may like it better than I do. I feel guilty to say it, but I should be glad if I didn’t have to see it around any more.”

“ I thought so,” remarked Isabel. She wiped the plate carefully on a glass-towel. “ And I brought down that carved Swiss watch-rack of father’s, from the shelf in the hall closet. He never uses it. I might take that over to the sales-room.”

u He will never know that it’s gone,” assented Mrs. Carleton, as she and Isabel went back into the dining room. “ But are you contributing only the articles that belong to your relatives? ” she queried humorously. “ It’s easy to be generous with other people’s things.”

“ Now, mother, that’s unfair,” returned Isabel in a hurt voice. “ Do you honestly think I’m like that? I’m giving that lovely little mosaic pin that I got in Naples. Of course I have the big jade pin that Madame Doret gave me, and one or two others, and I can get along without the mosaic, though I do love it. And I’m giving the filet lace doily that I made out of the Venetian square; and — ”

“ Oh, I beg your pardon,” smiled Mrs. Carleton. “ I thought it wasn’t like you to be so high-handed. I laid out one or two things on the hall table for you to take with you. You’ll bring back some of the girls for dinner, won’t you? ”

“ Yes; I asked Meta, and Miss Meade, — she and I are getting to be good friends, for we like the same things so much, you know.”

“ I like her, too,” replied Mrs. Carleton. “ Well, I’ll tell Olga, then, how many there are to be. I hope you’ll have a nice afternoon, dear.”

“ I’m sure I shall, Mummy. Don’t give me a thought till I come back.”

“ I can’t promise that,” said Mrs. Carleton, as she turned away to go to the kitchen.

On her way upstairs for her wraps, Isabel stopped to look at the things which her mother had laid out on the hall table: a beautiful little water-color in a hand-carved frame; a jabot of creamy Alengon lace;

an old silver box which had “ come down ” in the family from the days of wafer-sealed letters. “ Dear mother ! ” said Isabel to herself, in real dismay, “ she has given the things that she loved the very best, I do believe.” The girl took up the lace in unsteady fingers. “ I know it must have been a terrific sacrifice to part with this; it’s such a lovely piece, and some old friend or other gave it to her when she was married! ”

Isabel went on upstairs feeling that her own contributions were rather small. She dressed hurriedly, and was soon starting for the hall where the sale was held. The brilliant April sunshine of yesterday had faded, and the sky was dull and gray. There was an occasional spurt of rain. Isabel walked briskly along with her umbrella up. She had put on a long rain-coat over her green silk dress, made over from the year before.

Arrived at the hall, she found Meta already there, looking very handsome in a gown of rose-colored broadcloth. People who did the selling were expected to “ dress up,” so that the occasion might seem all the more festive and alluring.

“ I came early, so that I could arrange the tables,” explained Meta. “ They looked so jumbled last time, when Caroline Harper and Mrs. Rausch had them. See — isn’t that nice? Miss Meade and I have gone over everything.”

“ Oh, that’s fine ! ” cried Isabel, as she took off her coat. The tables were covered with some lengths of soft old gray cashmere, against which the varied articles, arranged in related groups, stood out with tempting clearness.

“ Miss Meade knows exactly how things should go,” said Meta, “ and I can make my hands useful if I have to.”

“ Some of the things are very choice, aren’t they?” Isabel took up a bit of ancient Croatian cross-stitch, and then a heavy silver table-spoon.

“ It must be hard for people to let them go,” meditated the other girl.