HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Wingham Advance-Times, 1940-12-19, Page 17WINGHAM ADVANCE-TIMES PAGE NINE
so awfully queer that I had a crying
spell, which of course was weak-mind-
fed and silly* But I couldn’t help it.”
Dusty sdid, “Of course; And shall
I play a two-fingered acornpahimfent?''
They tried three of Sue’s songs and
afterwards Dusty was silent. He
lighted a cigarette, poked the tiny fire,
and paced up and down the room.
She put her face’ in her hands.
“Dusty! Is it that bad?”
"Oh!” he said, as if he had forgotten
her presence and was jerked back
from his own thoughts. “Oh, Sue, it
is surprising. It’s appealing, too.
.Very. But it isn’t any more like the
liquid tone you had before your ill
ness than if you were another person.
Some of the notes arc, of course. But
this low huskiness — why, I shouldn’t
be surprised if it intrigued Tony Stef
ano.”
Sue’s eyes, bluer and larger than
ever, seemed enormous now. Her
sweet red mouth seemed larger, too.
But her face was alight with the old
eagerness and she said, “Dusty —
please -—’please. Let me-try!"
“But,’Sue, you’re barely out of the
hospital. It isn’t possible.”
“Dusty — oh, at least you must
give me a chance!”
Finally Dusty telephoned Tony
Stefano. Tony was delighted. He’d
take Sue on as soon as she was ready,
and he’d like to feature her this com
ing Saturday night if she^felt equal to
it. ' To conserve her strength they’d
dispense with the rehearsals and Sue
could run over the songs once or
twice with the orchestra leader and
the piano.
On Saturday night Sue was ex
tremely nervous and Dusty doubted
the wisdom of her appearing before
she was actually strong. After all,
she had been dangerously ill, and just
because she had made such a start
lingly quick recovery there was no
reason to push her. He had bought
lifer some fur-lined velvet overshoes,
called, in his mother’s gay days, car
riage boots. ■ If he could help it Sue
wasn’t going to get her feet wet again.
Underneath her velvet coat she wore
a warm knitted sweater which Gran
had sent, and admitted that it was
comforting.
Sue let her hand rest in Dusty’s
and watched the lighted shop windows
flash past. “I’m glad,” she said, “that
I won’t miss Christmas. I should have
hated to. What day it is, anyway?”
Christmas is less than two weeks
off, if that’s what you want.to know.
And young lady, just to give you fair
warning, remember you’re just out of
the hospital and if anything happens
to you I'll be responsible. At this mo
ment I have cold feet for calling up
Tony Stefano at all. I should have
k'ept my hands off and refused to have
anything to do with it. I should have
insisted on a cruise .to Bermuda or
the South. I should have—”
She turned to him. “Dusty, darling,
don’t be frightened about me. Really
I feel well, although I haven’t the
strength I had before and I get tired
quickly. But you know I urged yott
to do this. Don’t worry so. I’m quite
all right.”
(She came early on the program. The
night club was glittering with lights
in crystal chandeliers. It was newly
decorated, smart, and doing well.
Dusty took a table and sat down to
wait for Sue. Now that it, was time
for her, he was beside himself. The
rehearsal., Tony had told him in the
backstudio, had been all right, which
meant little or nothing to him. Now
that Sue was to face this roomful of
people Dusty felt he had been most
•unwise to allow her to undergo this
ordeal. He beckoned to the waiter
and ordered a stiff drink, as if he him
self were about to sing for this audi
ence.
When Sue stood there, her 'hands
clasped before her, she looked so frag
ile and beautiful that his heart leaped.
Yet no one seemed to notice her.
Then her voice, low and husky,
came forth appealingly, and he saw
people stop, listen, and turn towards
her. Sue finished het song, and Dusty
heaved a sigh of relief. The applause
was spontaneous and continued. The
orchestra leader nodded to Sue to give
an encore. This time there was sil
ent attention throughout, with scatter
ed clapping. She reached the refrain,
and then a Strange look of panic and
bewilderment spread over her face.
Dusty rose. When he reached her
she had stepped behind the piano and
me orchestra leader, puzzled, was
Staring at her.
“What is it, Sue?” Dusty asked.
“I Can’t,” she said in a whisper.
“Of course you can ” he said heart*
ily.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide
and terror-stricken, “But you don’t
understand, My voice — is complete
ly ~ gone.”
CHAPTER XV
While Dot briskly packed Sue’s
suitcase because Sue was so weakly
incapable of anything, Dusty was try
ing to cheer up Sue.
“Don’t take it so seriously, my dear,
All you need is a rest and everything
, will be all right,”
“It won’t,” Sue said. “The special
ist told me that probably my vocal
cords are permanently injured,”
‘‘Doctors don’t know everything,”
Said Dusty. “Forget it. They don’t
know you, Sue. Think how you re
covered—you amazed all the doctors
in New York. In fact, if I’m not mis
taken, your case is being written up
in the medical journal this month, to
bring hope to others.”
She smiled faintly.
“Cheer up,” said Dusty. “We'll all
come up to White Creek for' Christ
mas if you’ll be good, won’t we, Dot?”
* “Of course.” Dot said brightly.
>!< * *
Dot was very 'much on edge. Not
over an hour ago she had flown into
a rage at her secretary for a trivial
error.. It wasn’t only for that, but for
the mistakes'of yesterday and the day
before and. the day before that. She
had acthdliy yelled at the girl, who
“To Thanksgiving. May we all be thankful for what we now have, and
want no more than we deserve.”
sat white-faced, staring straight
ahead. Then Dot had risen and un
steadily poured herself a drink of wa
ter front the vacuum carafe on her
own desk,
“Connie,” she said, with a sudden
surge of warm feeling, a reaction from
the anger which ^Jeft her limp and
trembling, “I’m sorry. 1 didn’t mean
all I said. And of course I didn’t
mean that about firing you. It’s just
the Christmas spirit, I guess,” and
she smiled a little wryly.
Connie had crumpled at her kind
ness and put her head on her. type
writer. “Oh, Miss Graves, yoti fright
ened me so. It’s niy fault, I knpw.
But I’ve been so tired lately. My fa
ther is ill and my sister and I have
been up nights looking after him, and
—you sec, we couldn’t afford a night
Purse.”
It was the sort of miserable affair
that one shuddered to recall. Dot had
never dreamed that in her own
smooth world, she could be anything
but just, even-tempered and unbiased.
Always, more than anything, she had
hated business women who were mean
—who vented their ill-humor on their
underlings—and it seemed as if now
she had become one, herself.
Was it bccaiisc she had felt guilty,
ever since she had sent Sue home to
Gran? But what else was there to do?
Even Dusty had agreed with her. But
she had, she knew, a black little
thought that if Sue were Safe in White
Creek, at least Dusty could not see so
much of her as he did here in New
York. Was it because she had count
ed oil that fact, and then Dusty had
gone careening off after Sue, without
Considering her?
* >k *
C. C. Mitcheltrec’s was jammed with
people. Although the counter for
Christmas wrappings, had been cent
red so that customers could get on all
four sides of it, and there were hall
a dozen extra girls, still people were
complaining that they couldn't get am»
attention. • ,
Dot paused with her hand on the
stair railing which led to the balcony
and looked down. The store was a
madly turbulent sea, heads and arms
wildly bobbing about on the waves.
Although it was early in the after
noon, the. sales girls were already
weary, their smiles strained, their fac
es wan.
"And it’s still two weeks off!” Dot
sighed. “The Christmas spirit is sup
posed to be back of all this,” she mus
ed. “If there is anything more unlike
the. Christmas spirit as it was once
envisaged, it’s these weeks before
Christmas with their burden of shop
ping. Don’t people know—can’t they
realize that nearly all of it is artific
ially stimulated? That it’s just a com
mercial racket fostered and bolstered
and built up by people who have
things to sell?”
At the moment she loathed herself
because no one reaped a bigger profit
from Christmas than the company of
C. C. Mitcheltree. In fact, they had
almost more than anybody else to
make wrapping gifts a fine art, with
their varicolored paper, their trans
parent colored bows, the gilded holly,
the miniature Santa Clauses. And as
if that weren’t enough, there was the
Christmas party, not only for juven
iles, but for grown-ups. Decorations
and costumes', the new indestructible
kind, and crepe paper table cloths and
new table settings, and favors and
Jack Horners and ten thousand other
silly items.
Stephen opened the door of his of
fice and met her on the stairs. “Why
so glum, my lass? We’re doing three
hundred‘more than last year, even as
early as this,”
“Oh, but, Stephen/’ Dot groaned,
“it’s dll so absurdly stupid. Why can’t
shoppers understand that it isn’t what
they buy, but what they edn give of
themselves? Of time, or thought, or
affection? If they’d only sit down and
write letters — or if they’d make
something, with their own hands —
after all, Graii lids" the right idea. She
would think d gift no gift unless it
held something of herself. Now those
mittens for the nephews and nieces—”
Stfephen took her by the arm.
“Come on Up/' I Waiit to talk to you,
anyway. Besides, this—this Speech of
yours about Christmas has a ring bf
familiarity. Didn’t we have an ad this
season that ran: ‘It isn’t the gift, it’s
its wrapping’—or something to that
effect?”
Dot sat down limply and looked
out through the long thickly woven
white, curtains into the street, blue in
the early dusk, “How can you twist
it so? ‘Though your gift be small, its
wrapping can be important. And a
Mitcheltree wrapping shows the giv
er’s loving thought of you.’ Listen to
those females down there, yapping—
full of loving thoughts.”
“What have you there?”
Dot glanced down at the corrugat
ed frame of a Jack Horner pie and
read , the slip. “Merry Christmas, sil
ver letters pasted on cellophane cloud
—silver ribbon—two dozen matching
favors, blue and white—to be made
by Peggy. Deliver Saturday. Truck.”
Stephen took it from her and plac
ed it on the desk. “Dot, my sweet, I
hate to see you so tired, so frazzled,
So warily caustic.”
She turned her face away and for
a moment her chin trembled. It was
(■quite true. Other people besides Ste
phen had noticed it. She just couldn’t
help the cutting remarks that came
. kps* Nerves, she supposed.
Otherwise—well, what else could it
be. She was tired to the very marrow
of her bones. So tired that sometimes
she thought they would all go soft as
jelly and drop her in a tired little heap
—to sleep—and sleep.
“Perhaps.” Dot thought, “if I make
up my mind to marry Stephen and
really think about him and plan to
make him happy, I can be a nice per*
son again.”
“Dot, we could get married and take'
a trip, after the rush.”
Dot smiled. “But New Year’s com-
?s .on.i!ie heels of Christmas. It just
isn t fair—and February is the party
month—” ■
“There’s still almost all of January.
And it’s nice in the South.”
?Yessaid Dot, “A little sun helps,
but I want to .be sure.”
It would scarcely be fair to marry
Stephen just because she was tired
and discouraged and wanted a chance
to sleep, somewhere away from New
York. But she thought, “I probably
will marry him. I think I am fonder
of Stephen than of anyone else in the
world. He certainly has been faith
ful and long-suffering. Why has he
waited so long unless he really means
it all, as he says he does?”
“All right, Dot,” Stephen said gent
ly. “By the way, are you bent on
White Creek for Christmas?”
“I guess so,” Dot said. “Gran al
ways expects us—and Sue is pretty
well knocked out. Gran is planning
a gay Christmas chiefly for her sake,”
“Dot,” said Stephen, “I’d love to
come too. May I?”
“I’d'love to have you,” Dot said as
she rose to go out and take the Jack
Horner frame to Peggy. “Stephen.”
she added, and looked straight into
his eyes, “I can’t think of anything
nicer in the world than marrying you.”
“Oh!” said Stephen. “Oh, my dear!”
As he reached to take her in his arms,
a sample roll of crepe paper which
had been leaning on the shelf tipped
over and . crashed down about their
heads, winding them foolishly in
yards of a new shale called gloxinia.
CHAPTER XVI
Gran always wore a percale house
dress which came down to her ankles.
The top was a tight little bodice that
flower out over her" soft bosom. And
the collar, topped by a fresh bit of
riching, was held together with a dark
cameo. Over the dress she wore a
full white apron which tied in the
back with a stiffly starched bow.
“Now, Sue,” Gran was saying as
she weighed out raisins and flour on
the funny old scales for the Christmas
fruit cakes — an event which could
no,t be trusted to Lucy Gilbert, the
maid of all work — “it’s never the
right thing to spend money before
you have it, now, is it?”
“No,” said Sue contritely, in a hus
ky voice. She was sitting on the kit
chen stool, picking out black walnuts
for the cake. “No, I guess it isn’t.
Gran, b_ut you see there was so much
money coming in.”
“But it didn’t come,” Gran said.
“No.”
“Now when , the cakes are done,”
said Gran, stirring the brown aromat
ic Spices into the rich dough, “we’ll
douse them with sherry and let ’em
ripen. Then we’ll get the keys to the
Blue Chamber and the Green Chamb
er and inspect Lucy Gilbert's clean
in’ Upstairs., She's kinda apt to slight
things — ain't so young and spry as
she was. And Susie, when you get
through there, I’d like you to sort ov
er all them Christmas ornaments in
the box in the living room. Make a
list of what we need, and when you
take your constitutional this after
noon, stop at Joel’s and tell him we
want the biggest tree he’s got. ’Taiii’t
every year we can have a real cele
bration, and We might aS well make
the most of it. Dusty and Dot and
this new beau of loot’s, Stephen Em
ery — my! my!” Grandma drew a long
breath in anticipation. “I do love a
party!”
“Yes,” said Sue.
The box of Christmas ornaments
was yellowed and grubby with dust.
Sue opened it and found the carton
with each bright ball in its own par
tition, like eggs in a box. Here was
the bl-Ue and silver one with indented
sides, the crimson and gold one with
the pointed tip, the yellowdiaired an
gels, the huge star for the tip, the cot
ton-stuffed Santa Clauses, the walnuts
she had gilded orie Christmas time,
the tarlatan stockings and here a bro
ken Candy cane. She held the star
loosely in her hand. At this moment
she might again be the small girl who
lived here, with no knowledge of the
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