The Nowadays Girls in the Adirondacks 1 – Brownell · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The Nowadays Girls in the Adirondacks 1The Nowadays Club
18
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The Nowadays Girls in the Adirondacks 1
The Nowadays Club
BrownellEnglish
The chugging taxicab stopped in front of the apartment on Central Park, West, and the uniformed door attendant bowed out of it, and into the marble vestibule, a demure girl with rosy cheeks.
"Miss Pursell?" she asked, and there was that in her voice which made the elevator boy look a second time; and he was not unused to seeing pretty girls and hearing them speak.
"Third floor, miss," he said, with a quick touch of his hand to his much-gold-braided cap. Then, as he clanged the steel-grilled door shut, he favored the hall-man with a distinct wink, which Rose Bancroft did not see. But had she seen it she would, perhaps, have given it little consideration, since it did not concern her.
What did concern her was reaching her friend Sylvia Pursell as soon as possible. There were more reasons than one for this, but perhaps the one with which we may now concern ourselves was that Rose had been travelling since early morning, having but just arrived at the Grand Central Terminal from Syracuse.
Travelling in even the best-portered Pullman, in the middle of the "Chicago Special," is very apt to grime one up, especially if the aforesaid one be wearing a particularly light and dainty dress. So Rose, as she was shot upward in the smooth-running elevator, wondered whether the coloured maid at the Grand Central had made sure that there was no cinder dust on the end of her nose.
"For," reflected Rose to herself, "if there is one thing more than another, that makes a girl lose her smartness and dignity, it is a black spot on the end of her nose."
And Rose had her special reasons for wanting to look at least "smart" when she reached Sylvia's apartment. I'll tell you why later. She ventured to glance into the bevelled mirror which made up the whole back of the car, but the electric bulb was shaded with a rose-tinted glass, and while it made a very pretty effect, still it was not conducive to illumination.
"I'm almost sure there's a spot," thought Rose, but she dared not raise her veil to make sure. And just then the elevator lad, who had been favouring his solitary passenger with more than one surreptitious glance, called out, in a most respectful tone of voice, a voice not at all in keeping with his previous facetious wink:
"Your floor! Miss Pursell's!"
"Thank you," said Rose, quietly, and stepped out.
A few moments later, Rose having been ushered into a pretty reception hall, and thence to the drawing-room, she and Sylvia had their arms around each other, and Sylvia was kissing her friend, regardless of whether or not there was a spot on Rose's face--her nose or anywhere else.
"It was so sweet of you to come down from Syracuse, my dear!"
"Nonsense, it was just perfectly lovely of you to ask me. I am so interested!"
"I thought you'd be! Did you have a tiresome trip?"
"Oh, not especially so. We were a little late, but made it up. Mrs. Blake, mamma's friend, you know, came part way with me."
"That was nice. Janet, take Miss Bancroft's things, and then tell Perkins we'll have tea in here."
"Yes, Miss Pursell."
"Are the other girls here?" asked Rose, as she made sure this time, by a hasty glance in a well-lighted mirror, that there was not a spot on her nose.
"No, they're coming to-night, I presume. Hazel was away when my telegram reached her, but she left Chicago last night, and ought to be here now. I'm not so sure when Alice will arrive. You know her style."
"Indeed I do. If she doesn't arrive to-day, next week will do. But are you really going to carry out your plan?"
"I most certainly am, my dear! I don't plan things and then not do them."
"Yes, I know, Sylvia, but this going off to the Adirondacks, all by ourselves----"
"But we'll not be by ourselves. Aunt Theodora Leigh Brownley will chaperon us, and----"
"You didn't leave out any of her name; did you?" and Rose laughed a merry laugh, that sounded like the tinkle of ice in a strawberry-tinted pitcher of lemonade on a hot day.
"She rather likes her whole title," answered Sylvia. "But you knew she was going with us; didn't you?"
"I wasn't sure," and Rose turned at the entrance of the butler with the tray of tea things as though she expected to see some one else.
"Oh, indeed mamma wouldn't consent to my making up the party at all until I had arranged for a chaperon. Of course Aunt Theodora Leigh Brownley is rather a handicap in ways, but she is so good, and she doesn't mind sitting up until all hours at a dance."
"Oh, then we are going to dance!" and the eyes of Rose glistened, while her breath seemed to come faster between her parted lips.
"Of course, my dear! There will be some men up there, I hope!"
"Oh, won't it be just perfectly all right!"
"I hope you'll find it so. Let me see--you take lemon?" and Sylvia paused questioningly with a slice held over Rose's cup.
"Lemon, yes. And two lumps, please."
The tinkle of silver on eggshell china filled a pause, and then the girls looked into each other's eyes. In Rose's was a question she wanted to ask, but hardly dared. Several times it was at her lips, but somehow she forced it back. And when she had made up her mind to ask it there came a ring of the bell.
"Telephone?" questioned Rose.
"No, the entrance hall. I wonder----"
Sylvia paused, listening, and when she heard the unseen caller ask for her she started at the sound of a drawling voice--a voice of Southern unctuousness and richness. Then she arose from the little table, so precipitately as almost to overturn it, though Rose saved it in time.
"Sylvia!" gasped Rose. "You----"
"It's Alice," was the excuse offered. "Here we are, Alice!" she went on, and a girl--a tall, slender girl, with dark eyes, that sparkled from underneath dark brows, and lighted up a face of pure olive-brown tint--fairly swept into the apartment.
"Alice!" cried Sylvia, as she kissed her and then passed her on to Rose for a like ceremony. "How ever did you get here?"
"Why, yo'all seem surprised," was the retort in that slow, unctuous, Southern voice. "I hope I didn't arrive too early," and Alice Harrow flung, rather than "draped" herself, as Sylvia would have done, into a chair.
"Early! It's early for you," commented Rose.
"I did get here sooner than I expected," Alice went on. "But I made up my mind, if we were to carry out the rules of our club, that being ahead of time was better than being late."
"Good for you!" cried Sylvia. "Tea?" she asked, indicating the little table.
"Land, no! It's too hot! Lemonade if you have it, with a bit of mint crushed in it--not too much crushed, and a slice of real lemon floating on top. Then just a suggestion of nutmeg. But if you haven't it, ice water will do as well," and she suddenly switched off, as she saw Rose gazing at her with rather open-mouthed wonder.
"No, indeed. Janet shall make it at once!" exclaimed Sylvia.
"Well, are you surprised to see me?" demanded Alice, a moment later, when the maid had left the room.
"Surprised isn't the word for it!" Sylvia said. "We were just talking about you----"
"I wondered why my ears burned!" laughingly broke in Alice, who seemed unusually bright and crisp for a native of the Southern clime.
"We were just saying that we feared you would be the last to arrive," went on Sylvia, with a smile. "As it is you have reached here before Baby!"
"No! You don't mean it!"
"But I do, my dear!"
"To think of besting Hazel Reed! Oh, that's just splendid. I----"
Alice arose and was about to execute a few steps of a new dance, but, at that moment, the maid came with the elaborately ordered glass of lemonade on a little silver tray, and it was only by the most skilful turn, as though extricating herself and her partner from a crowded corner of the ballroom floor, that Alice saved herself from an accident.
"Oh, that's delicious!" she murmured, as she sipped the spiced, icy drink. "Your butler must be a Southerner, Sylvia."
"We never knew it. But I'm glad you like it. Yes, you are here before Hazel, though she may arrive any minute."
"And when she comes," said Rose, "the Nowadays Club will have a full membership present. Then, I suppose, Sylvia will condescend to give a more detailed explanation of the mysterious telegrams she sent us. All I know is that we're going to spend the summer in the Adirondacks."
"Isn't that enough to know?" asked Alice. "Why seek to force the hands of Fate?" and she reclined lazily in her chair, and languidly closed her eyes.
She opened them a moment later, however, and a bright, vivacious look came over her dark face. She clapped her hands and cried out:
"Oh, girls, I must tell you! It's the greatest surprise. You know Minnie Reynolds, that demure, mouse-like girl that was in our class?"
"You mean, Cheese?" asked Rose.
"Yes, that's what we called her--she reminded one so of a mouse, and cheese always has that association for me. Well, Minnie has 'done gone an' got he'se'f engaged,' as my old coloured mammy would say."
"Who's the fellow?" asked Sylvia. "Any one we know?"
Alice took a long breath, preparatory to answering, but just then the bell rang again.
"Oh, if that should be Baby!" murmured Sylvia.
"It is Baby!" called out a breezy voice in answer, for the pretty hostess had spoken even as the maid opened the door. "It is Baby! Who all's in there?" she went on, eagerly, joyously.
"Hazel Reed!" murmured Alice. "She'll be furious when she finds I'm here ahead of her. She can't call me the late Miss Harrow now."
"Oh, you're all here!" gasped the newcomer, as she swept into the room--literally swept in, for her dress caught in a light chair that she dragged after her.
"Hello, girls!" she went on. "Oh, Sylvia! Such a trip. Two accidents; the taxicab driver nearly ran over an old man, I lost my purse--found it again though, thank goodness. Mislaid your address and I've been telephoning all over for two mortal hours. But here I am. Kiss me, everybody! Oh, but it's good to see you all again."
There was a little cyclone of laughter, and then Sylvia, tinkling a spoon against a cup to attract attention, called out:
