Everyone laughed, and Dunlap meekly surrendered the articles mentioned. Directly Mr. Dalken began his story, the wily reporter had another pencil and pad before him. But Fabian stealthily took possession of these also, and the laugh went against the young man that time.
While Mr. Dalken wove a veritable thriller out of the material provided by the fire, Mrs. Wellington wondered how it was possible to present the facts so well and at the same time prove, beyond doubt, that the young ladies of Mrs. Wellington’s school were so perfectly trained and educated that they were a great factor in saving lives and property that night. At the end of the story, Mr. Dalken said that some bright investor might find a handsome revenue in building a fire-proof Hall where just such entertainments could be given – high-school girls who loved to give parties but could not lease one of the hotel ball-rooms, weeks in advance and pay exorbitant prices, and then possibly change their plans before the event.
“You can make a separate paragraph of what I said, if you like, and preface it with the remark: ‘When asked what he thought about the fire, Mr. Dalken, who viewed the blaze from a house opposite the scene, said’: you know the rest,” the famous financier saw that the reporter comprehended, and then he turned to the others seated about the table.
“Anything to add to my story?”
“It was very fine, especially about our dear Principal, but you didn’t say enough about Polly carrying Elizabeth safely out,” Eleanor said, eagerly.
“I followed a lead given me by Mr. Fabian. We all think it best not to mention names, but to make the incident impersonal,” explained Mr. Dalken.
Eleanor pouted, for she wanted to have Polly given all the credit for what she did. But a sly look from the reporter gave her an idea, and she smiled back understandingly.
Then the story was pieced out for Dunlap and when he had taken down all his notes, he jumped up and said: “I know you will excuse me for rushing away, but I want to get this in type at once. In case you have forgotten something, or wish to send me a photograph of anyone, call 10000 Greeley and I’ll see to it, without fail.”
“That’s all you’ll get on this occasion,” laughed Mr. Dalken as James started to show the young man to the door. But in passing Eleanor, Dunlap sent her a mental telegram, and she closed one eye significantly.
“Oh – he left his pencils and paper!” exclaimed Eleanor, jumping up instantly and running with them to the front door.
“Mr. Dunlap – here is your private property that Mr. Fabian had charge of,” was what the guests in the dining-room heard. But to Dunlap she hurriedly whispered: “I’ll ’phone you after I leave here.”
Before the party broke up that night, Mrs. Ashby learned that Mrs. Maynard was an old schoolmate of hers, and expressed a wish that Polly and Eleanor would visit her again and meet Ruth who was then visiting friends for Thanksgiving week.
“I really cannot voice my gratitude to all these kind friends,” said Mrs. Wellington, as they stood in the reception hall saying good-night. “Not only has dear Mr. Dalken turned harsh public condemnation from my doors, but the story as he told it, actually brings glory to the school.”
“And why should it not, my dear Madam? Have you not fought and struggled with every girl in your charge, to perfect and express just the qualities I have given you credit for?” said Mr. Dalken.
“Oh, yes, I have tried so hard, but how many people, or even parents, would credit me with such endeavors? Once they read it in the papers they will accept the statement, but it is so hard to impress folks by actual demonstration,” sighed the thankful lady.
“Thank heavens, Mrs. Wellington, that you have a whole day of peace before you, in which to remember that you have found a group of people, here, who not only appreciate your efforts but have tried to make others approve them,” said Mrs. Ashby, earnestly.
“Indeed I have! I expect to have the very best of Thanksgivings, due to all of you dear people. Some day I will be able to show my gratitude for this.” And the lady’s voice quavered with emotion.
“And you’ll find the story in the papers will not only spare you any criticism, but actually praise your school,” added Mr. Ashby.
“You may be overwhelmed with new scholars,” suggested Polly, innocently.
“That’s so! I’ve always heard that discreet publicity is the finest kind of advertising,” Eleanor declared. “This fine tale about your scholars ought to bring back fifty percent returns.”
Everyone laughed heartily at hearing so young a girl talk so business-like, and Mr. Dalken said: “I am interested to know just where you got that information?”
“Isn’t it true?” demanded Eleanor, turning her bright eyes on him. “You see, Polly and I are going into business together, pretty soon, and I have to take notice of all approved methods of winning success. I am to be the business manager while Polly is the decorator.”
The new acquaintances were highly amused at such talk, and Mr. Ashby laughingly inquired: “What profession have you chosen?”
“Interior decorators. We have started, already; we go to Cooper Union three nights a week and Mr. Fabian takes us to all the lectures and exhibitions on any subject that will give us ideas and help.”
“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Dalken, finding the girls were really serious. Mrs. Ashby was deeply interested, but her husband took each of the prospective decorators by the hand and shaking them cordially, said: “Let us congratulate each other, for I am already established as a decorator. I want to help you onward in every possible way, my dear girls, so call on me whenever you want help. Just as Fabian takes you to these valuable exhibitions and lectures, so the four of us pulling together ought to arrive somewhere.”
Mr. Fabian was as pleased at the news as either of his protegées, and they left the Ashbys feeling very much at peace with the world and everything in it.
As Eleanor ran down the shallow brown-stone steps to the sidewalk, she turned back and called to Mr. Ashby: “Who knows! We may end by going into partnership with you, some day!”
He laughed, and said: “Who knows?”
CHAPTER VIII – A WEEK OF PLEASURE
As Mr. Maynard occupied Eleanor’s room at the Studio, and she used the couch moved into Polly’s room for the time being, it seemed difficult for Eleanor to follow her desire to communicate with Dunlap, the reporter, as soon as she got home.
Everyone was dog-tired from the excitement and the visit at the Ashbys afterward, so there was no time lost before tumbling into bed. Eleanor found it very hard to keep her eyes open until she could hear Polly sleeping heavily. Then she crept from the bed.
Downstairs was the print of a photograph taken a few weeks before, of a group of Mrs. Wellington’s scholars. Polly and herself were in this group, and Eleanor planned to get it into the reporter’s hands for reproduction to print a picture of Polly in the morning’s paper.
She found the photograph without noise or trouble and then sat down before the telephone stand in the corner of the living room. “I hope to goodness no one upstairs will hear me talk,” thought Eleanor to herself, as she gave the number to Central.
“Hello – is this 10000 Greeley?
“Give me Mr. Dunlap, please.
“The lady who said she would call him about the fire.
“No, you won’t do! I want Dunlap!
“He isn’t in? I don’t believe you! Get off the wire!
“Hello – hello! H-e-l-lo! I want editor’s desk – 10000 Greeley, and be quick about it!” snapped Eleanor, feeling quite irritable because of the loss of sleep, and the strange reporter’s laugh at her.
“Is this the night-editor?” now asked Eleanor, eagerly.
“U – um! May I speak to Mr. Dunlap – the reporter you assigned on the fire story uptown, to-night?
“Oh – he isn’t in? Well, but he said he would wait to take some important notes from me. I can’t believe he is out.
“Well, then, you may be the night-editor, but you sound exactly like that fresh reporter who spoke to me a moment ago. I cannot understand why you employ such rude youths as he is.”
Eleanor grinned to herself for she was quite sure she was speaking to the same reporter who answered the call, at first. An answering laugh convinced her she was right, and she hissed through the telephone: “If you knew who I was, you wouldn’t keep me sitting in the cold like this. Now you can either call Dunlap or I’ll give my story to your enemy downtown. The reporters of that paper are just dying to get my story.”
That proved miraculous. To prevent the downtown competitor from getting the story, the unknown was willing to turn it over to his opponent, Dunlap.
Eleanor recognised Dunlap’s voice the moment he took the ’phone, and she gave him some interesting personal facts about Polly and herself, and why they were now studying in New York. She talked for half-an-hour, praising Polly and her wonderful character, and finally began telling about the escape from Grizzly Peak at the time of the landslide. But Dunlap interrupted her with:
“I can’t get all of that in – we go to press very shortly.”
“Oh, dear! Can’t you run over here and get this photo of Polly, that I have ready for you?”
“For the morning edition?” gasped Dunlap.
“Yes, to accompany the story of the fire.”
“My dear young lady – do you know how long it takes to make a plate for the paper?”
“A plate? I said ‘a photograph,’ Mr. Dunlap.”
“But we have to make a reproduction of yours, then print it on a plate, then give it an acid bath, then etch and rout, and mount – and it all takes time before the plate is ready to be stereotyped for the printing in the paper.”
“Oh! I thought you just took the picture and copied it in the paper. Of course, I never stopped to inquire into what process it went through. But if you say you can’t use it, I’m sorry.”
“So’m I. But you might bring it in early in the morning and I’ll see if there is enough interest in the story to rake up an evening’s yarn.”
“Very well. I’ll do that.”
“Come in, anyway, and bring your friends. I’ll show you through the engraving plant of the paper. You’ll be interested.”
“Thank you – good-by.”
Eleanor hung up the receiver and listened intently to hear if anyone was stirring upstairs. All was quiet, so she placed the photograph back on the shelf and crept upstairs again. She jumped into bed shivering, after being exposed so long to the cold, downstairs. But utter weariness soon brought her sleep and all was forgotten until breakfast time.
Mr. Maynard, speaking, woke Eleanor. She sat up and rubbed her eyes sleepily. “Thank goodness, we do not have to go to school for a whole week!” declared she, throwing a shoe at Polly’s half-buried head.
“Polly! Pol-le – ee! Wake up!”
“Wha-foh?” grunted Polly, half-dazed.
Then both girls heard Mr. Maynard call: “I’ll be right back to breakfast, Mrs. Stewart – I’m going to the corner for the papers.”
Eleanor suddenly remembered her share in the telling of the story about the fire, and she jumped out of bed. “I’m going to hurry down and read what the paper says about the fire,” said she.
Polly turned over and stretched lazily. “I don’t care what they say. I’m going to sleep all day.”
Eleanor was annoyed. “No, you won’t! We’ve got to keep a date with Mr. Fabian this noon, and you’ve got to get up!”
“Oh, that’s so! Mr. Fabian is going to take us to Grand Central Palace to show us how carpets are made. I forgot that exhibition was to-day.” And Polly jumped up at that remembrance when other things had failed to move her.
The girls were downstairs in time to open the front door for Mr. Maynard. He was grinning teasingly, as he tried to keep a great mass of morning papers from slipping out from under his arm. He held out an opened sheet for the girls to see.
“Oh, what a horrid face! Who is it?” exclaimed Eleanor.
“The paper states it is you, my dear,” laughed her father.
“What – never! Oh, what awful people these newspaper men are! Dad, can’t you go down there and horse-whip them? I never looked like that in all my life!” and Eleanor stamped her foot in a fury.
Polly had been gazing at the two faces printed on the front sheet of the morning paper, but now she laughed. “Oh, if I looked like that picture, I could have put out the fire by merely turning my face to it!”
Anne and her mother came in when they heard Mr. Maynard’s loud laughter. They, too, stared at the oval-framed pictures said to be “The two heroines of the dreadful fire at Assembly Hall.”
“Anne, where under the sun did the newspapers get those two pictures?” asked Polly, tittering every time she saw the ovals.
“Every newspaper has a department known as the ‘morgue,’ or some such name. They keep, filed away, pictures of every well-known person in the world. In the package indexed under the proper name, are one or two ‘cuts’ ready to use in case of a hurry. Then when a person dies, or is married, or something or other happens, the newspaper rushes to its files and gets out the picture, or cut, needed.
“It is the same with famous buildings, or ships, or objects of any kind. If something comes up that brings the thing to the public attention, there the papers have the pictures all ready to print.
“Now they keep lots of photographs, just like these two, which they buy from cheap photographers. They buy a hundred in a job lot, and if they want a picture and can’t secure a legitimate one, or a snap-shot from the reporter’s kodak, they use what they have on hand.
“It would be extremely amusing to be present when these girls see their faces in the paper. It will prove almost as funny as seeing you two girls scorning these strange faces.”
But Mr. Maynard had been reading the article while Anne had explained the methods of many newspapers, and now he exclaimed: “By jove! Dalken never said a word about all this life-history!”
“What’s that, Daddy? Read it to us,” begged Eleanor, eagerly.
“Why – wh-y-y – the young rascal hit it right on the head, all right! But where did he get it?” continued Mr. Maynard.
“For pity’s sake – read it aloud!” commanded Eleanor, hardly able to hold her tongue about the story.
Then Mr. Maynard read it, and it lost none of its vivid coloring by his reading, either. When he had almost concluded, Polly began to grow angry. When he finished, she was furious.
“I’m going up to that office and I’ll fight that reporter. He had no more right to print that than those other men had to use someone else’s photographs and call them ours. So there!”
Mr. Maynard had been thinking seriously, and now he nailed Eleanor with a penetrating look. “Nolla, did you tell that young rascal this story when you ran to the door with his pencil and paper last night?”
“No, indeed! I did not, Daddy! You can ask the butler if I ever did! He stood right there when I handed Dunlap the pencil!”
Eleanor’s denial was so emphatic that everyone believed she was innocent of any such plot; so they never found out who was the guilty one.
While at breakfast, the telephone rang. “This is Mr. Latimer, Anne. We have just read the papers and were so surprised! When we saw the pictures of the two heroines, we feared some dreadful thing had happened to distort their faces so that we failed to recognise them, and I hastened to inquire. Do you need Dr. Evans’ services to straighten out those faces?”
An amused laugh could be heard over the wire, and Anne laughed back. “No, thanks; a good night’s rest has brought back their natural looks. The faces in the paper must have been taken by the flickering flame of the burning dwelling.”
“Jim and Ken came home late last night for the Holiday. We wanted to congratulate you girls on trying so hard for the Carnegie Medal, but now Jim wants to say ‘good-morning.’”
In another moment, Jim’s voice was heard speaking. “Oh, good-morning, Anne. Have you used Pears Soap?” Then a gay laugh.
“We have, but you haven’t! Your father just told me you got in at midnight, and if you’re up as early as this, I’m sure the sleep hasn’t been washed from your eyes,” retorted Anne.
Polly and Eleanor crowded close and hung over the ’phone so they could hear what Jim had to say.
“I only wanted to say, I’ve got tickets for the show, to-night, and the girls are not to go anywhere else.”
“Oh, tell him we’re out of town on a week-end party,” Eleanor whispered, hurriedly to Anne.
“Are the tickets good for Eleanor’s father and my mother, in case the girls go out of town?” teased Anne.
“Say – you really don’t mean that?” Jim’s voice sounded very sad.
“I cannot tell a lie – I am like George, you see, and I’ll let the girls fib for themselves,” laughed Anne, getting up from the stool and handing the instrument to Polly.
“Oh, here, Nolla! You do it! You know I don’t like this jiggery quivery thing!” cried Polly, quickly placing the telephone apparatus on the table and making room for Eleanor on the chair.
Eleanor was delighted to talk with Jim, and she kept at it until a clicking in her ear notified her that someone wanted to get them on the wire, so she hurriedly rang Jim off.
“Hello!” called Eleanor to the next inquirer.
“Hello – 1234 Madison Square?”
“Yes.”
“This is Mr. Ashby speaking. Is this one of the heroines?”
“Oh, Mr. Ashby! Yes, it is Nolla. What do you think of the story in the paper – and the funny photographs?” laughed Eleanor.
“I laughed myself sick over it at breakfast. My wife and I wondered how that young rascal got them, and James explained.”
Here Eleanor turned white, for she wondered if the butler really had seen her wink at Dunlap. “My, but I’m thankful I got at this wire instead of Anne,” said she to herself.
“Two of our maids had their postal-card pictures taken the other day, and upon rushing out of the front door to watch the fire last night, they laid them upon the hall table. James saw them there, later, but thinking the girls would soon be coming in to take them upstairs, he did nothing about it.
“Then in the excitement of watching Miss Polly climb the front of the house, and have the Chief carry her over to our house, the pictures were completely forgotten. As the young reporter went out, James saw Miss Eleanor take his hat from the stand and hand it to him. But nothing was thought about the cards. Later, however, they were gone.
“This morning the papers have the photographs of Mary, the waitress, and Gladys, the upstairs girl, as heroines of the fire. Maybe our maids are not tickled to pieces to find themselves so famous.”
Eleanor heard both Mr. and Mrs. Ashby laughing merrily over the mistake, and then she said: “Do you suppose I handed the cards to Dunlap when I picked up his papers and hat?”
“Undoubtedly. But the joke is, he thinks you meant to do it very secretly, you see, so he never mentioned it but hurried the work on the pictures so as to have them in the morning’s paper. He most likely believes that that was why you ran after him – to manage to give him those two photographs to use. I think the laugh is entirely on him, don’t you, Eleanor?”
But Eleanor did not say. She sat and studied the pattern in the rug for a time, refusing to answer all the questions asked. Then she decided that Mr. Ashby must have heard from Dunlap that morning, and was told how she had added many facts to Mr. Dalken’s story. But this funny error of using the maid’s photographs, was retribution on her head.
The young people, with Anne to chaperone them, enjoyed the play that night, and then the boys outlined the programme they had made for the week.
The next day, being Thanksgiving, the entire party was to dine at the Latimers’. Then they would go for an automobile drive, and in the evening all would enjoy an impromptu supper and dance at the Evans’.
Friday morning the boys would take the girls skating at St. Nicholas Rink. They begged to attend Mr. Fabian and the girls in the afternoon at the Textile Exhibition, then dinner at the Studio, and another play at night.
Saturday morning the girls were going to visit Mr. Ashby’s famous decorating establishment, and get a glimpse first-hand of what a modern decorator must do and know to succeed. In the afternoon the boys wanted to take in a matinee, but the girls were invited to dinner at the Ashbys, and to spend the evening with their daughter Ruth. So Jim said nothing, but he instantly planned how to meet the Ashbys.
“Now don’t go and make any more dates for next week, without asking us, understand!” declared Jim, when he heard that Saturday was engaged and Sunday, partly so.
“How can we help it if our parents and chaperones do it without our knowledge,” queried Eleanor, innocently.
“Well, I’ll speak to them, then. Ken and I will have to be off again next week; so for the few days we have at home we want you girls to pass up all other fun. You’ve got all the year for other beaux, you know,” grumbled Jim.
Polly and Eleanor laughed. “Oh, yes,” said the latter, “we just keep on the go continually, every afternoon and evening, with a devoted swain each day to replace the ones of the day before.”
“Where do you meet them?” demanded Jim, jealously.
“We-ll – the first one Polly and I snared, we ‘picked up’ at an art sale. But we have many opportunities to meet others, you know.”
“Yes,” added Polly, entering the joke, “at night school, you know, there are loads of young men; and at lectures and exhibitions – and everywhere.”
“Is that why you both are so crazy to go to these dry lecture affairs?” jeered Kenneth, thinking himself very clever, indeed.
But they failed to get the girls to break the engagement with the Ashbys, and Jim barely managed, through his father’s kind auspices, to meet Mr. Dalken Saturday morning, and thus open the way to call on the Ashbys that evening.
Mr. Dalken was young in spirit if not in years, and he enjoyed helping the two boys work out the little plot so as to be present with Polly and Eleanor at the Ashbys, that evening. But the boys never knew that their benefactor passed up an exciting game of chess at his club, that Saturday night, in order to introduce them to his friends.
There were so many wonderful things to do during that Holiday Week, that the girls could not attend them all. Many of their school-friends were eager to have them at teas and parties and matinees, but all these had to be refused with regrets. Eleanor remarked: “Wait for school to open. We’ll be the most popular girls there. In fact, every last girl will want to fag for us!”
“Why?” asked Polly, wonderingly.
“Because they think we are in such demand, everywhere, that we can’t accept any invitations of theirs. Don’t you suppose they have told each other? Lots of those girls travel around together, and they talk everything over. But I guess they are wondering who takes us out so much, and what society we travel in.” Eleanor laughed.
Polly looked at her with pity. “Nolla, sometimes I feel so sorry for you! All your joy and pleasure in having others act nice or kind to you, is lost because of the education you’ve had in Bob’s school. Now I don’t believe those girls ask us just to cater to us because we are popular. I think they really like us and would love to have us with them. If I wasn’t so frightfully busy with school at night, and other worth-while occupations, I’d jaunt about with them.”
Eleanor said nothing more, but she did a lot of thinking.