Part 4 (1/2)

Sissy hardened. She had a way of becoming adamant on rare occasions that really struck terror to Split's facile soul, which resented a grudge promptly and as promptly forgot all about it.

”I don't care to play it,” said Sissy, loftily.

”Well--I want you to--now.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'Play it, then, you mean thing,' she cried, ... 'if it's going to do you any good!'”]

”But I don't want to.”

”Ain't you going to give me my lesson, then?” demanded Split, hoa.r.s.ely.

”I thought you were so anxious to help me!”

Sissy was mute. Hers was a strong position, she felt.

”D' ye expect me to get down on my knees?” Irene's wrathful voice rose, and her unstable temper rocked threateningly. A Madigan would willingly have been flayed alive rather than apologize in so many words.

”I don't expect anything at all,” remarked Sissy, coldly.

”Well, you'd better expect, for”--with a swift motion that cut off her sister's retreat and put her own back to the door--”you'll play that piece before you go out of this room.”

Without a word Sissy plumped down on the floor. Unconcernedly she pulled her jackstones out of her pocket, and soon their regular click-clock and the deft thump of her small, fat fist was all that was heard in the room.

It always seemed to Split that the last occasion of a disagreement between herself and the sister nearest to her in years, and furthest from her in temperament, was the most intolerable. Never in her life, she thought, had she so longed to murder Sissy as at this minute.

She--Split--had no time to waste besieging the impregnable fortress of Sissy's mulishness, when the hardening process had really set in. There never was time enough on Sat.u.r.days to do half what one planned, and to-day was the day of Crosby Pemberton's party, besides.

And still Split remained at the door, and still Sissy played jackstones.

Twice there were skirmishes between besieger and besieged--once when Split crept upon Sissy and, with a quick thrust of her slim, straight leg, disarranged an elaborate scheme for ”putting horses in the stable,”

and once when there was a strategic sortie from Sissy, which failed to catch the enemy napping.

It was Split who finally yielded, as, with rage in her heart, she had known from the very beginning would be the case. But no Madigan ever laid down her arms and surrendered formally.

Split threw open the door with a bang. ”Go out, then, miss! go out!” she commanded.

Calmly and skilfully Sissy finished the ”devil on a stump,” the last of those ornamental additions the complexities of which appeal to experts in the game; then she gathered up her beloved jackstones and got to her feet. But dignity forbade that she should leave the room just when her foe had ordered her to go. So she ignored the invitation, and going to the piano, sat down in an ostentatiously correct position, requiring many adjustments and readjustments, and began to play ”The Gazelle.”

She played prettily, did this young person, who seemed to Split specially designed to infuriate her. And to-day she played ”with expression,” soft-pedaling and lingering upon certain pa.s.sages in a way which the Madigans considered shameless.

”Oh, the affected thing! Just listen to her! How she does put on!”

sneered Split to the world at large.

Sissy's lips opened, then closed tightly. She had almost answered, for no Madigan may be accused of sentimentality and live unavenged. Only a moment, though, was she at a loss. Then calmly, prettily, she glided into Split's own particular ”piece.” She knew this would draw blood. And it did.

”You sha'n't play it now! You sha'n't!” Split cried, her ungovernable temper aroused. She dashed impetuously for the piano and tore the sheet of music from the rack.

It was the thing for which she had suffered so many lessons; for which she had sat feeling like a mean-spirited imbecile with Sissy's impertinent finger under her wrist, while all outdoors was calling to her; for which she had forborne often and often during the week, only to be more thoroughly bullied on Sat.u.r.days. Yet she tore it across and recklessly trampled it underfoot. Then with her hands over her ears, lest she hear the imperturbable and maddeningly excellent Sissy play ”In Sweet Dreams” without the notes, Split fled.

Sissy played on till the very last bar; she had an idea that Split might be ambushed out in the hall. But when she got to the end and heard no sound from there, she decided that the enemy was indeed vanquished, and she rose to close the piano. As she did so she got a view of an elegantly stout and very upright lady coming up the front steps, with a fair, pale boy by her side.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'Go and shake hands properly, like a little gentleman,'