Bab: A Sub Deb

M >> Mary Roberts Rinehart >> Bab: A Sub Deb


"Rags are royal raimant, when worn for virtue's sake."

(I shall stop here and go down to the Pantrey. I could eat no dinner,
being filled with emotion. But I must keep strong if I am to help Adrian
in his Trouble. The minse pie was excelent, but after all pastrey does
not take the place of solid food.)


LATER: I shall now go on with my recitle. As the theater was almost
emty, at the end of Act One I put on the pink hat and left it on as
though absent-minded. There was no one behind me. And, although during
Act One I had thought that he perhaps felt my presense, he had not once
looked directly at me.

But the hat captured his erant gaze, as one may say. And, after capture,
it remained on my face, so much so that I flushed and a woman sitting
near with a very plain girl in a Skunk Coller, observed:

"Realy, it is outragous."

Now came a moment which I thrill even to recolect. For Adrian plucked
a pink rose from a vase--he was in the Milionaire' s house, and was
starving in the midst of luxury--and held it to his lips.

The rose, not the house, of course. Looking over it, he smiled down at
me.


LATER: It is midnight. I cannot sleep. Perchanse he to is lieing awake.
I am sitting at the window in my ROBE DE NUIT. Below, mother and Sis
have just come in, and Smith has slamed the door of the car and gone
back to the GARAGE. How puney is the life my Familey leads! Nothing but
eating and playing, with no Higher Thoughts.

A man has just gone by. For a moment I thought I recognised the
footstep. But no, it was but the night watchman.


JANUARY 17TH. Father still away. No money, as mother absolutely refuses
on account of Maidie Mackenzie's gown, which she had to send away to be
repaired.


JANUARY 18TH. Father still away. The Hon. sent Sis a huge bunch of
orkids today. She refused me even one. She is always tight with flowers
and candy.


JANUARY 19TH. The paper says that Adrian's Play is going to close
the end of next week. No busness. How can I endure to know that he
is sufering, and that I cannot help, even to the extent of buying one
ticket? Matinee today, and no money. Father still away.

I have tried to do a kind Deed today, feeling that perhaps it would
soften mother's heart and she would advance my Allowence. I offered to
manacure her nails for her, but she refused, saying that as Hannah had
done it for many years, she guessed she could manage now.


JANUARY 20TH. Today I did a desparate thing, dear Dairy.


"The desparatest is the wisest course." Butler.


It is Sunday. I went to Church, and thought things over. What a
wonderfull thing it would be if I could save the play! Why should I feel
that my Sex is a handycap?

The recter preached on "The Opportunaties of Women." The Sermon gave
me courage to go on. When he said, "Women today step in where men are
afraid to tred, and bring success out of failure," I felt that it was
meant for me.

Had no money for the Plate, and mother atempted to smugle a half dollar
to me. I refused, however, as if I cannot give my own money to the
Heathen, I will give none. Mother turned pale, and the man with the
plate gave me a black look. What can he know of my reasons?

Beresford lunched with us, and as I discouraged him entirely, he was
very atentive to Sis. Mother is planing a big Wedding, and I found Sis
in the store room yesterday looking up mother's wedding veil.

No old stuff for me.

I guess Beresford is trying to forget that he kissed my hand the other
night, for he called me "Little Miss Barbara" today, meaning little in
the sense of young. I gave him a stern glanse.

"I am not any littler than the other night," I observed.

"That was merely an afectionate diminutive," he said, looking
uncomfortable.

"If you don't mind," I said coldly, "you might do as you have
hertofore--reserve your afectionate advances until we are alone."

"Barbara!" mother said. And began quickly to talk about a Lady Somthing
or other we'd met on a train in Switzerland. Because--they can talk
until they are black in the face, dear Dairy, but it is true we do not
know any of the British Nobilaty, except the aforementioned and the man
who comes once a year with flavering extracts, who says he is the third
son of a Barronet.

Every one being out this afternoon, I suddenly had an inspiration, and
sent for Carter Brooks. I then put my hair up and put on my blue silk,
because while I do not beleive in Woman using her femanine charm when
talking busness, I do beleive that she should look her best under any
and all circumstances.

He was rather surprized not to find Sis in, as I had used her name in
telephoning.

"I did it," I explained, "because I knew that you felt no interest in
me, and I had to see you."

He looked at me, and said:

"I'm rather flabergasted, Bab. I--what ought I to say, anyhow?"

He came very close, dear Dairy, and sudenly I saw in his eyes the
horible truth. He thought me in Love with him, and sending for him while
the Familey was out.

Words cannot paint my agony of Soul. I stepped back, but he siezed my
hand, in a caresing gesture.

"Bab!" he said. "Dear little Bab!"

Had my afections not been otherwise engaged, I should have thriled at
his accents. But, although handsome and of good familey, although poor,
I could not see it that way.

So I drew my hand away, and retreated behind a sofa.

"We must have an understanding, Carter" I Said. "I have sent for you,
but not for the reason you seem to think. I am in desparate Trouble."

He looked dumfounded.

"Trouble!" he said. "You! Why, little Bab"

"If you don't mind," I put in, rather petishly, because of not being
little, "I wish you would treat me like almost a DEBUTANTE, if not
entirely. I am not a child in arms."

"You are sweet enough to be, if the arms might be mine."

I have puzled over this, since, dear Dairy. Because there must be
some reason why men fall in Love with me. I am not ugly, but I am not
beautifull, my noze being too short. And as for clothes, I get none
except Leila's old things. But Jane Raleigh says there are women like
that. She has a couzin who has had four Husbands and is beginning on
a fifth, although not pretty and very slovenly, but with a mass of red
hair.

Are all men to be my Lovers?

"Carter," I said earnestly, "I must tell you now that I do not care for
you--in that way."

"What made you send for me, then?"

"Good gracious!" I exclaimed, losing my temper somwhat. "I can send for
the ice man without his thinking I'm crazy about him, can't I?"

"Thanks."

"The truth is," I said, sitting down and motioning him to a seat in my
maturest manner, "I--I want some money. There are many things, but the
Money comes first."

He just sat and looked at me with his mouth open.

"Well," he said at last, "of course--I suppose you know you've come to a
Bank that's gone into the hands of a reciever. But aside from that,
Bab, it's a pretty mean trick to send for me and let me think--well, no
matter about that. How much do you want?"

"I can pay it back as soon as father comes home," I said, to releive his
mind. It is against my principals to borow money, especialy from one who
has little or none. But since I was doing it, I felt I might as well ask
for a lot.

"Could you let me have ten dollars?" I said, in a faint tone.

He drew a long breath.

"Well, I guess yes," he observed. "I thought you were going to touch me
for a hundred, anyhow. I--I suppose you wouldn't give me a kiss and call
it square."

I considered. Because after all, a kiss is not much, and ten dollars is
a good deal. But at last my better nature won out.

"Certainly not," I said coldly. "And if there is a String to it I do not
want it."

So he apologised, and came and sat beside me, without being a nusance,
and asked me what my other troubles were.

"Carter" I said, in a grave voice, "I know that you beleive me young
and incapable of Afection. But you are wrong. I am of a most loving
disposition."

"Now see here, Bab," he said. "Be fair. If I am not to hold your hand,
or--or be what you call a nusance, don't talk like this. I am but
human," he said, "and there is somthing about you lately that--well, go
on with your story. Only, as I say, don't try me to far."

"It's like this," I explained. "Girls think they are cold and distant,
and indeed, frequently are."

"Frequently!"

"Until they meet the Right One. Then they learn that their hearts are,
as you say, but human."

"Bab," he said, sudenly turning and facing me, "an awfull thought has
come to me. You are in Love--and not with me!"

"I am in Love, and not with you," I said in tradgic tones.

I had not thought he would feel it deeply--because of having been
interested in Leila since they went out in their Perambulaters together.
But I could see it was a shock to him. He got up and stood looking in
the fire, and his shoulders shook with greif.

"So I have lost you," he said in a smothered voice. And then--"Who is
the sneaking schoundrel?"

I forgave him this, because of his being upset, and in a rapt attatude I
told him the whole story. He listened, as one in a daze.

"But I gather," he said, when at last the recitle was over, "that you
have never met the--met him."

"Not in the ordinery use of the word," I remarked. "But then it is
not an ordinery situation. We have met and we have not. Our eyes have
spoken, if not our vocal chords." Seeing his eyes on me I added, "if
you do not beleive that Soul can cry unto Soul, Carter, I shall go no
further."

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "There is more, is there? I trust it is not
painfull, because I have stood as much as I can now without breaking
down."

"Nothing of which I am ashamed," I said, rising to my full height. "I
have come to you for help, Carter. THAT PLAY MUST NOT FAIL."

We faced each other over those vitle words--faced, and found no
solution.

"Is it a good Play?" he asked, at last.

"It is a beautiful Play. Oh, Carter, when at the end he takes his
Sweetheart in his arms--the leading lady, and not at all atractive. Jane
Raleigh says that the star generaly HATES his leading lady--there is not
a dry eye in the house."

"Must be a jolly little thing. Well, of course I'm no theatricle
manager, but if it's any good there's only one way to save it.
Advertize. I didn't know the piece was in town, which shows that the
publicaty has been rotten."

He began to walk the floor. I don't think I have mentioned it, but that
is Carter's busness. Not walking the floor. Advertizing. Father says he
is quite good, although only beginning.

"Tell me about it," he said.

So I told him that Adrian was a mill worker, and the villain makes him
lose his position, by means of forjery. And Adrian goes to jail, and
comes out, and no one will give him work. So he prepares to blow up
a Milionaire's house, and his sweetheart is in it. He has been to the
Milionaire for work and been refused and thrown out, saying, just before
the butler and three footmen push him through a window, in dramatic
tones, "The world owes me a living and I will have it."

"Socialism!" said Carter. "Hard stuff to handle for the two dollar
seats. The world owes him a living. Humph! Still, that's a good line to
work on. Look here, Bab, give me a little time on this, eh what? I may
be able to think of a trick or two. But mind, not a word to any one."

He started out, but he came back.

"Look here," he said. "Where do we come in on this anyhow? Suppose I do
think of somthing--what then? How are we to know that your beloved and
his manager will thank us for buting in, or do what we sugest?"

Again I drew myself to my full heighth.

"I am a person of iron will when my mind is made up," I said. "You think
of somthing, Carter, and I'll see that it is done."

He gazed at me in a rapt manner.

"Dammed if I don't beleive you," he said.

It is now late at night. Beresford has gone. The house is still. I take
the dear Picture out from under my mattress and look at it.

Oh Adrien, my Thespian, my Love.


JANUARY 21ST. I have a bad cold, Dear Dairy, and feel rotten. But only
my physicle condition is such. I am happy beyond words. This morning,
while mother and Sis were out I called up the theater and inquired the
price of a box. The man asked me to hold the line, and then came back
and said it would be ten dollars. I told him to reserve it for Miss
Putnam--my middle name.

I am both terrafied and happy, dear Dairy, as I lie here in bed with a
hot water bottle at my feet. I have helped the Play by buying a box,
and tonight I shall sit in it alone, and he will percieve me there, and
consider that I must be at least twenty, or I would not be there at
the theater alone. Hannah has just come in and offered to lend me three
dollars. I refused hautily, but at last rang for her and took two. I
might as well have a taxi tonight.


1 A. M. THE FAMILEY WAS THERE. I might have known it. Never do I have
any luck. I am a broken thing, crushed to earth. But "Truth crushed to
earth will rise again."--Whittier?

I had my dinner in bed, on account of my cold, and was let severly alone
by the Familey. At seven I rose and with palpatating fingers dressed
myself in my best evening Frock, which is a pale yellow. I put my hair
up, and was just finished, when mother nocked. It was terrable.

I had to duck back into bed and crush everything. But she only looked in
and said to try and behave for the next three hours, and went away.

At a quarter to eight I left the house in a clandestine manner by means
of the cellar and the area steps, and on the pavment drew a long breath.
I was free, and I had twelve dollars.

Act One went well, and no disturbence. Although Adrian started when he
saw me. The yellow looked very well.

I had expected to sit back, sheltered by the curtains, and only visable
from the stage. I have often read of this method. But there were no
curtains. I therfore sat, turning a stoney profile to the Audiance, and
ignoreing it, as though it were not present, trusting to luck that no
one I knew was there.

He saw me. More than that, he hardly took his eyes from the box wherein
I sat. I am sure to that he had mentioned me to the Company, for one and
all they stared at me until I think they will know me the next time they
see me.

I still think I would not have been recognized by the Familey had I not,
in a very quiet seen, commenced to sneaze. I did this several times, and
a lot of people looked anoyed, as though I sneazed because I liked
to sneaze. And I looked back at them defiantly, and in so doing,
encountered the gaze of my Maternal Parent.

Oh, Dear Dairy, that I could have died at that moment, and thus, when
streched out a pathetic figure, with tubroses and other flowers, have
compeled their pity. But alas, no. I sneazed again!

Mother was weged in, and I saw that my only hope was flight. I had not
had more than between three and four dollars worth of the evening, but
I glansed again and Sis was boring holes into me with her eyes. Only
Beresford knew nothing, and was trying to hold Sis's hand under her
opera cloak. Any fool could tell that.

But, as I was about to rise and stand poized, as one may say, for
departure, I caught Adrian's eyes, with a gleam in their deep depths. He
was, at the moment, toying with the bowl of roses. He took one out,
and while the Leading Lady was talking, he eged his way toward my box.
There, standing very close, aparently by accident, he droped the rose
into my lap.

Oh Dairy! Dairy!

I picked it up, and holding it close to me, I flew.

I am now in bed and rather chilley. Mother banged at the door some time
ago, and at last went away, mutering.

I am afraid she is going to be petish.


JANUARY 22ND. Father came home this morning, and things are looking up.
Mother of course tackeled him first thing, and when he came upstairs I
expected an awful time. But my father is a reel Person, so he only sat
down on the bed, and said:

"Well, chicken, so you're at it again!"

I had to smile, although my chin shook.

"You'd better turn me out and forget me," I said. "I was born for
Trouble. My advice to the Familey is to get out from under. That's all."

"Oh, I don't know," he said. "It's pretty conveniant to have a Familey
to drop on when the slump comes." He thumped himself on the chest.
"A hundred and eighty pounds," he observed, "just intended for little
daughters to fall back on when other things fail."

"Father," I inquired, putting my hand in his, because I had been bearing
my burdens alone, and my strength was failing: "do you beleive in Love?"

"DO I!"

"But I mean, not the ordinery atachment between two married people. I
mean Love--the reel thing."

"I see! Why, of course I do."

"Did you ever read Pope, father?"

"Pope? Why I--probably, chicken. Why?"

"Then you know what he says: `Curse on all laws but those which Love has
made.'"

"Look here," he said, sudenly laying a hand on my brow. "I beleive you
are feverish."

"Not feverish, but in trouble," I explained. And so I told him the
story, not saying much of my deep Passion for Adrian, but merely that
I had formed an atachment for him which would persist during Life.
Although I had never yet exchanged a word with him.

Father listened and said it was indeed a sad story, and that he knew my
deep nature, and that I would be true to the End. But he refused to
give me any money, except enough to pay back Hannah and Carter Brooks,
saying:

"Your mother does not wish you to go to the Theater again, and who are
we to go against her wishes? And anyhow, maybe if you met this fellow
and talked to him, you would find him a disapointment. Many a
pretty girl I have seen in my time, who didn't pan out acording to
specifications when I finaly met her."

At this revalation of my beloved father's true self, I was almost
stuned. It is evadent that I do not inherit my being true as steal from
him. Nor from my mother, who is like steal in hardness but not in being
true to anything but Social Position.

As I record this awfull day, dear Dairy, there comes again into my mind
the thought that I DO NOT BELONG HERE. I am not like them. I do not even
resemble them in features. And, if I belonged to them, would they
not treat me with more consideration and less disipline? Who, in the
Familey, has my noze?

It is all well enough for Hannah to observe that I was a pretty baby
with fat cheaks. May not Hannah herself, for some hiden reason, have
brought me here, taking away the real I to perhaps languish unseen and
"waste my sweetness on the dessert air"? But that way lies madness.
Life must be made the best of as it is, and not as it might be or indeed
ought to be.

Father promised before he left that I was not to be scolded, as I felt
far from well, and was drinking water about every minute.

"I just want to lie here and think about things," I said, when he was
going. "I seem to have so many thoughts. And father----"

"Yes, chicken."

"If I need any help to carry out a plan I have, will you give it to me,
or will I have to go to totle strangers?"

"Good gracious, Bab!" he exclaimed. "Come to me, of course."

"And you'll do what you're told?"

He looked out into the hall to see if mother was near. Then, dear Dairy,
he turned to me and said:

"I always have, Bab. I guess I'll run true to form."


JANUARY 23RD. Much better today. Out and around. Familey (mother and
Sis) very dignafied and nothing much to say. Evadently have promised
father to restrain themselves. Father rushed and not coming home to
dinner.

Beresford on edge of proposeing. Sis very jumpy.


LATER: Jane Raleigh is home for her couzin's wedding! Is coming over. We
shall take a walk, as I have much to tell her.


6 P. M. What an afternoon! How shall I write it? This is a Milestone in
my Life.

I have met him at last. Nay, more. I have been in his dressing room,
conversing as though acustomed to such things all my life. I have
conceled under the mattress a real photograph of him, beneath which he
has written, "Yours always, Adrian Egleston."

I am writing in bed, as the room is chilley--or I am--and by putting out
my hand I can touch His pictured likeness.

Jane came around for me this afternoon, and mother consented to a walk.
I did not have a chance to take Sis's pink hat, as she keeps her door
locked now when not in her room. Which is rediculous, because I am not
her tipe, and her things do not suit me very well anyhow. And I have
never borowed anything but gloves and handkercheifs, except Maidie's
dress and the hat.

She had, however, not locked her bathroom, and finding a bunch of
violets in the washbowl I put them on. It does not hurt violets to wear
them, and anyhow I knew Carter Brooks had sent them and she ought to
wear only Beresford's flowers if she means to marry him.

Jane at once remarked that I looked changed.

"Naturaly," I said, in a BLASE maner.

"If I didn't know you, Bab," she observed, "I would say that you are
rouged."

I became very stiff and distant at that. For Jane, although my best
friend, had no right to be suspicous of me.

"How do I look changed?" I demanded.

"I don't know. You--Bab, I beleive you are up to some mischeif!"

"Mischeif?"

"You don't need to pretend to me," she went on, looking into my very
soul. "I have eyes. You're not decked out this way for ME."

I had meant to tell her nothing, but spying just then a man ahead who
walked like Adrian, I was startled. I cluched her arm and closed my
eyes.

"Bab!" she said.

The man turned, and I saw it was not he. I breathed again. But Jane was
watching me, and I spoke out of an overflowing Heart.

"For a moment I thought--Jane, I have met THE ONE at last."

"Barbara!" she said, and stopped dead. "Is it any one I know?"

"He is an Actor."

"Ye gods!" said Jane, in a tence voice. "What a tradgedy!"

"Tradgedy indeed," I was compeled to admit. "Jane, my Heart is breaking.
I am not alowed to see him. It is all off, forever."

"Darling!" said Jane. "You are trembling all over. Hold on to me. Do
they disaprove?"

"I am never to see him again. Never."

The bitterness of it all overcame me. My eyes sufused with tears.

But I told her, in broken accents, of my determination to stick to him,
no matter what. "I might never be Mrs. Adrian Egleston, but----"

"Adrian Egleston!" she cried, in amazement. "Why BARBARA, you lucky
Thing!"

So, finding her fuller of simpathy than usual, I violated my Vow of
Silence and told her all.

And, to prove the truth of what I said, I showed her the sachet over my
heart containing his rose.

"It's perfectly wonderfull," Jane said, in an awed tone. "You beat
anything I've ever known for Adventures. You are the tipe men like,
for one thing. But there is one thing I could not stand, in your
place--having to know that he is making love to the heroine every
evening and twice on Wednesdays and--Bab, this is WEDNESDAY!"

I glansed at my wrist watch. It was but to o'clock. Instantly, dear
Dairy, I became conscious of a dual going on within me, between love and
duty. Should I do as instructed and see him no more, thus crushing
my inclination under the iron heal of Resolution? Or should I cast my
Parents to the winds, and go?

Which?

At last I desided to leave it to Jane. I observed: "I'm forbiden to try
to see him. But I darsay, if you bought some theater tickets and did not
say what the play was, and we went and it happened to be his, it would
not be my fault, would it?"

I cannot recall her reply, or much more, except that I waited in a
Pharmasy, and Jane went out, and came back and took me by the arm.

"We're going to the matinee, Bab," she said. "I'll not tell you which
one, because it's to be a surprize." She squeazed my arm. "First row,"
she whispered.

I shall draw a Veil over my feelings. Jane bought some chocolates to
take along, but I could eat none. I was thirsty, but not hungry. And my
cold was pretty bad, to.

So we went in, and the curtain went up. When Adrian saw me, in the front
row, he smiled although in the midst of a serious speach about the world
oweing him a living. And Jane was terrably excited.

"Isn't he the handsomest Thing!" she said. "And oh, Bab, I can see that
he adores you. He is acting for you. All the rest of the people mean
nothing to him. He sees but you."

Well, I had not told her that we had not yet met, and she said I could
do nothing less than send him a note.

"You ought to tell him that you are true, in spite of everything," she
said.

If I had not decieved Jane things would be better. But she was set on my
sending the note. So at last I wrote one on my visiting card, holding
it so she could not read it. Jane is my best friend and I am devoted to
her, but she has no scruples about reading what is not meant for her. I
said:


"Dear Mr. Egleston: I think the Play is perfectly wonderfull. And you
are perfectly splendid in it. It is perfectly terrable that it is going
to stop.

"(Signed) The girl of the rose."


I know that this seems bold. But I did not feel bold, dear Dairy. It was
such a letter as any one might read, and contained nothing compromizing.
Still, I darsay I should not have written it. But "out of the fulness of
the Heart the mouth speaketh."