Part 30 (1/2)
”Probably you won't call this to-night a real party, then. There's never much that's exciting at Doctor Agnew's. He always has an orchestra playing, and we walk round and talk, and usually somebody does something to entertain us--a reading or songs. Maybe you won't think it's as festive as you expect.”
”Oh, well, I reckon it will be a nice change,” said she, with quite unexpected good humour.
In the dressing-room Chester Agnew, the son of the head-master, came up to Just with an expression of mingled pleasure and chagrin.
”Awfully glad to see you, Birch,” he said, ”I suppose you noticed that we have no music going to-night. It's a shame, isn't it? Lindmann's men have been delayed by a freight wreck on the P. & Q. They were coming home from a wedding down the line somewhere, and telephoned us they couldn't get out here before midnight. We've tried to get some other music, but everything's engaged somewhere.”
”Too bad, but it's no great matter,” Just replied, comfortably. ”We can worry along without the orchestra.”
”No, you can't. Mother's plans for to-night were for a series of national dances, in costume, by sixteen of the juniors, and that's all up without the music.”
”Why won't the piano do?”
”We haven't a piano in the house. Yes, I know, but it was Helena's, and when she was married in November she took it with her. Father hasn't bought a new one yet, because the other girls don't play. Now do you see? You're in for the stupidest evening you've had this winter, for it's too late to get anybody here to do any sort of entertaining.”
”That is too bad,” admitted Just, thinking of Lucy, and finding himself caring a good deal that she should not think the affair dull. He walked along the hall with Chester to the point where he should meet Lucy, thinking about the situation. Then an idea popped into his head.
”Isn't your telephone in that little closet off the dining-room?” he asked.
”Yes. Want to use it?”
”Yes. Take Lucy down, will you? You know her. I've just thought of something.”
Just slipped down to the dining-room. He carefully closed the door of the closet and called up Doctor Churchill. To him he rapidly explained the situation and the remedy which had occurred to him. Doctor Churchill's voice came back to him in a tone of amused surprise.
”Why, Just, do you think we could carry it through decently? We don't know the music at all. Oh, play our own and make it fit? What sort will do--ordinary waltzes and two-steps? I shouldn't mind helping them out, of course, if I thought we could manage it. Better than nothing?
Well--possibly. Better consult Mrs. Agnew before we do anything rash.”
Just ran up the rear staircase and down the front one. He found Chester and whispered his plan. Interrupting Chester's eager grat.i.tude, he asked for somebody who could tell him what music would be needed.
”Mother's receiving, and so are the girls. Carolyn Houghton will know, I think. She's been at the rehearsals. I'll get her.”
”Well, are you going to leave me to myself much longer?” Lucy inquired, reproachfully, as Just waited silently beside her for Carolyn.
”Why, I'm awfully sorry,” he said, remembering his duties, which in the excitement of the moment he realised he was forgetting. ”I hope you'll excuse me, but I've got to help the Agnews out if I can.” And he hurriedly told her his plan. She stared at him in astonishment.
”You don't mean you would come and take the place of a hired orchestra for a reception?” she cried, under her breath.
It was Just's turn to stare. Then he straightened shoulders which were already pretty square. ”Would you mind telling me why not? That is, provided we can do it well enough.”
”I think it's a mighty queer thing to do,” insisted Lucy, with disapproval.
Carolyn Houghton appeared and beckoned Just and Chester out into the hall. Lucy followed, not liking to be left alone. Everybody seemed to be forgetting her, although Chester had turned, and said cordially, ”That's right, Miss Lucy! Come and help us plan.”
Carolyn lost no time. ”It's fine of you,” she said eagerly. ”Yes, I'm sure you can do it. Not one person in fifty will know whether the tunes you play are national or not. Something quaint and queer for the Hungarian, and jigsy and gay for the Irish. Castanets in the Spanish dance--have you them?”
”Young Randolph Peyton can work those,” began Just, looking at Lucy.
She frowned. ”Really, I don't believe you'd better have him in it,” she said, with such an air that Carolyn glanced at her in amazement, and Chester coughed and turned away.