Part 12 (1/2)

”But you always play. I'd rather any day get up and strut over the stage, shrieking 'Is that a dagger that I see before me?' than sit down and keep my fingers on the right keys,” said Mame Welch.

”It is certainly wonderful how Azzie can play,” said Min. ”Every one seems to enjoy it; but, do you know, just for myself, I like popular airs best?

Beethoven and Mozart may be fine, but I like the kind that the newsboys whistle and all the hurdy-gurdies play.”

”Wouldn't Mozart turn in his grave if he heard her?” asked Mame. ”Speak to her, Azzie. Reason with her. You are the only one who has artistic sense enough to be shocked. Tell her to keep quiet, like the others of us do, and pretend to revel in delight at Wagner.”

”Will the Middlers be in it, too?” asked Elizabeth. Her heart failed at the thought.

”Yes,” said Mary, seeing that Elizabeth was really concerned at the prospect of appearing in public. ”Yes, they give the Middlers several parts. You see, their idea is to get the Middlers used to public speaking so that they will appear well when they are Seniors. All the experiences or lessons Middlers ever get are given them in order to fit them to be Seniors.”

The lunch had been progressing during the chatter. A few drumsticks and several slices of cake remained to show what had been. Elizabeth and Mary, with true housewifely instinct, put away the remnants of the feast after their guests had finished.

”How economical you are becoming!” said Mame Welch. ”If I become hungry to-morrow, I will visit while you are not here. If you miss anything, I think you may give Landis the credit of taking it.”

Landis shrugged her shoulders. ”To see how careful they are, one would think they never had much to eat before and don't expect much again. Now, I'd throw the whole lot of it into the sc.r.a.p-basket and let Jimmy Jordan carry it off with the refuse. You bring to my mind that woman we met the day we came back to Exeter. She was horrified because I didn't take what was left of our lunch and run about offering it to some people who did not have any with them. She went outside and shared hers with such a common-looking woman and two dirty, crying babies.”

”And me, too,” said Elizabeth, not a whit abashed that she had been one of the party which Landis saw fit to criticise.

”Oh, yes,” was the reply, ”But I suppose you were forced into it.”

”I wasn't forced into it,” Elizabeth replied. ”Indeed, I was glad to go.

It was like a little picnic out there under the tree--”

”With two crying babies?”

”They did not cry after we went out. And the woman whom you laugh at was very agreeable. The wait did not seem at all long. It was rather like a pleasant party.”

”Well, tastes differ,” was the reply. ”I am glad you enjoyed it. I'm sure I should not. Come, Min, don't you think we had better pick our steps back?”

”Walk as you please. The great Hokee Bokee Chief of the Night Hawks has taken the scalp of the pale-faced scout,” shouted Mary Wilson, jumping to her feet and, seizing the false fronts, she waved them madly in the air while she executed a war-dance.

”Give them back to Azzie,” said Mame. ”Sometime early to-morrow morning you will find that the pale-faced scout is close on Azzie's trail.”

Azzie took the trophies in her hand, examining them critically. ”To-morrow I intend to go in and call upon her. I know she'll have a towel bound around her head.”

The girls were about to depart when Mame Welch exclaimed, ”There, I almost forgot! Anna Cresswell has been invited down to Gleasonton to visit at the Senator's. Mrs. Gleason is arranging quite a party of Exeter girls as soon as they can have a free Sat.u.r.day.”

”Elizabeth and I were invited to-day,” said Mary. ”We were to let Mrs.

Gleason know what Sat.u.r.day we would have free.”

”They have fine times there--so they tell me,” Azzie said. ”I've never been invited to see for myself.”

”I do not know Mrs. Gleason personally,” remarked Landis, ”but we have the same set of friends. No doubt if I should tell her that I'm Robert Stoner's daughter, she'd out-do herself to be kind to me.”

”Why,” said Elizabeth guilelessly, ”was she such a friend of your father's?”

Landis shrugged her shoulders. ”My father was a man of some prominence,”

was the response. ”But how is it that she invited you? Did you not tell me that you did not know her?”

”I don't. I have never so much as seen her.”