Part 24 (1/2)
Of course Felicia took her home with her,--that was foreordained from the moment she saw her,--but she had a beautiful row getting her! The Poetry Girl had a ”stub, stub, stubborn way” too. She was suspicious, she was wary. She said she didn't care a d.a.m.n where she went but she didn't want any one to take her there. The dentist agreed with her. He took Felicia aside and told her it was his private opinion that the girl was either drunk or on the verge of a nervous breakdown and he thought the best thing to do would be to notify a police matron. In short he was cool and practical. If there was anything Felicia Day couldn't endure it was a Van d.y.k.e beard on a cool and practical man.
She told the Sculptor Girl afterward that it took strength of mind not to pull his silly beard off.
She tucked her thimble in her pocket, folded her ap.r.o.n and asked,
”Will you promise not to let her go till I get my hat?”
”You can't manage her,” said the dentist, ”I tell you she's irresponsible.”
”So am I,” confided Felicia serenely, ”but I'll come back to-morrow for the sewing. As soon as I get her in bed and Janet brings her some soup she'll be perfectly all right--”
But all the same it wasn't easy getting her home. It was a long walk.
Felicia hadn't two carfares and she had forgotten to ask the dentist for money. To make bad matters worse a heavy down pour of rain overtook them a good half mile from the house. Its cool splatter seemed to bring the Poetry Girl to her senses. She laughed a bit.
”What an idiot!” she exclaimed, ”you must think me--my name is Blythe Modder, and usually I'm sane. You see just before I went into that dentist's I did such a fool thing. I bought some patent liniment and put on my tooth and I didn't notice until afterward that it said 'external use only'--I was such an idiot--I think it went to my head-- I'm very much better now.”
”Well, come along and get some dry clothes and tea anyhow, then you'll be vairee all right.”
She left her with Janet while she ran for the dry clothes. She left her on Janet's immaculate bed in Janet's atrocious dressing gown. Her clothes she unceremoniously turned over to Janet to dry, leaving that practical soul verbose with disgust.
Felicia herself was drenched and she loved it. She was loth to strip the damp clothes off; she felt like running miles and miles in the rain. She was dreamily happy, dreamily miserable; she felt like the day--all tears and smiles both. She dropped the outer garments to floor and pulled her shoes and stockings off. Bab.i.+.c.he sat up and begged for a cracker. Felicia stooped, her damp hair clinging to her beautiful forehead, the long scant chemise that had been Octavia's falling loosely from her smooth shoulders.
”Poor Bab.i.+.c.he,” she crooned, ”When your mistress does come in--” So intent was she on reaching for the cracker box that she lifted her voice a bit. Dulcie, outside the door ready to tap on it, swung it open just in time to glimpse the charming posture.
Felicia blushed like a sixteen year old. She reached for her dressing gown and pulled it toward her.
But Dulcie Dierckx, slamming the door behind her, leaned against the panels fairly devouring Felicia with her eyes.
”Oh! Oh!” she cried in absolute ecstacy; ”Oh, Pandora! Pandora! don't move! How could I have been so stupid not to have seen you before! Oh, please drop the coat! Oh! Oh! you adorable--you beautiful person--you little old peach!”
Felicia laughed. Laughed her soft, breathless laugh and drew the gown closer.
”You--you're rather embarra.s.sing--” she sighed, ”Though of course,”
her eyes danced mischievously, ”my knees and my ankles and my insteps are vairee nice indeed--I got them all from Louisa, Margot says--and my hands--” she stretched one out--”They're Grandmother Trenton's--and I think I have nice ears--but the rest of me--” she shrugged, ”The rest of me won't do at all--my mouth is too big and--no, I wouldn't be at all your Pandora--it's dark here--that's why you thought you saw her--”
”I saw her,” insisted the Sculptor Girl stubbornly. ”And you'd be a brute not to help me--I--look here,” she lied casually, ”I didn't tell you but I've managed a bit of money--I'm not asking you to pose for nothing--I can pay you more than you earn at your sewing--”
”Oh, money,” she stammered. ”I didn't think about money--Sculptor Girl--how could you--”
”Taxes,” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Sculptor Girl bluntly. ”Interest! You can't forget 'em or we'll all be back in the gutter you know--So that's settled--to-morrow morning at nine--I'll have a good fire--you won't mind awfully, will you, if I hang wet cheese cloth around you--?”
She was trying to keep the excitement out of her voice but her eyes were sparkling. She no longer saw Felicia, she only saw Pandora--the Pandora of her dreams!
But all the same, after she'd lighted her cigarette in her own room she drew a long breath and pottered about her few possessions until she found something p.a.w.nable.
In the shop she bargained coolly enough with the p.a.w.n-broker, pocketed the money she fought for and as she was leaving stopped to gaze casually at the motley array of things in the dusty case. She stared unbelievingly at a quaint mahogany box, warily priced two or three other things and finally asked ”how much for the damaged writing case?” Ten minutes later she fled with it under her arm. It didn't look like much. It was quite empty and it would make a nice box for Pandora to be opening. But over and over her heart was pounding,
”It's the same Bee on it that's on her brushes--it's the same Bee she has said was on the silver--it's--oh, if it only could be hers!”
She burst in upon the Poetry Girl (now warm and snug in some of Dulcie's own garments) and Felicia sitting by the nursery fire. They were having a friendly little party. Felicia introduced the two girls with the affable hope they'd be nice neighbors. ”Blythe's coming to have the front room next as soon as Cross Eyes can pink-wash it--” Her eyes glimpsed the box, she fairly ran for it, ”That's Maman's,” she exclaimed, ”How did you find it?” She hugged it delightedly; she opened it--”Even its emptiness smells nice,” she sighed.
”Oughtn't there to be a secrud pocket in it, m'loidy? With the missing will and the dagger he stabbed her with?”