Back Aa

Dorothy Dale In The City

Close

<h2 id="c15">CHAPTER XV TEA IN A STABLE</h2> “Tavia!” exclaimed Dorothy, the next afternoon, as they prepared to go to a matinee, “this address is Aunt Winnie’s apartment house—the one she invested so much money in.” She handed Tavia Miss Mingle’s card. “How strange that the teacher should be Aunt Winnie’s tenant, and you never knew it,” cried Tavia, as she arranged a bunch of orchids, real hot-house orchids, that Ned had sent. “Won’t Aunt Winnie be surprised when she learns that our little Miss Mingle is one of her tenants?” Dorothy said. She was pinning on a huge bunch of roses. Ned had laughed at the girls’ tale of finding everything on the shopping tour to be false, and to prove that there were real things in New York City, had sent them these beautiful flowers to wear to the matinee. <div class="pb" id="Page_139">[139]</div> “Indeed,” continued Dorothy, “I’m mighty glad we met Miss Mingle. Aunt Winnie has had just about enough worry over that old apartment house! Miss Mingle, no doubt, will relieve that anxiety to some extent. I do so hope that everything will come out right. But come, dear, don’t look so grave, we must be gay for the show!” Ned ran into the room. “Hurry, girls,” he said, bowing low, “the motor is at the door.” “The car!” screamed the girls in delight, “where did the car come from?” “Oh, just the magic of New York,” said Ned, with a smile. “Not the Fire Bird?” asked Dorothy, hat pin suspended in mid-air. “Oh, no, just a car. Maybe you girls like being bumped along on top of the ’bus, but little Neddie likes to have his hand on the wheel himself,” said Ned. “Running a car in New York,” said Tavia, “is not North Birchland, you know. Maybe we’ll get a worse bump in it than we ever dreamed of on top of the ’bus.” “Oh, I know something about it,” said Ned confidently, “been downtown twice to-day in the thickest part of the traffic, and I’m back, as you’ll see, if you’ll stop fooling with those flowers long enough to look at me.” Tavia turned and looked lingeringly at Ned. “To-be-sure,” she drawled, “there’s Ned, Dorothy.” <div class="pb" id="Page_140">[140]</div> “I’m really afraid, Ned,” said Dorothy, “the traffic is so awful, you know you aren’t accustomed to driving through such crowds.” “If you stand there arguing all afternoon, there won’t be any trouble about getting through the crowd, of course,” gently reminded Ned. “It’s a limousine and a dandy! Bigger than the Fire Bird and a beautiful yellow!” “Yellow!” cried Tavia in horror. “With my complexion! Couldn’t you engage a car to match my hair?” “And my feathers are green!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Just like a man, engage a car and never ask what shade we prefer!” Tavia sat down in mock dismay. “Our afternoon is spoiled! No self-respecting person in this town ever rides in a car that doesn’t match!” “Oh, tommyrot,” said Ned in deep disgust, listening in all seriousness to the girls’ banter. “Who is going to look at us? Never heard of such foolishness!” And he dug his hands into his pockets, and walked gloomily about the room. “Ned, dear, you’re a darling,” enthused Dorothy, “you don’t really believe we are so imbued with the spirit of New York as to demand that?” “Ned really has paid us the greatest compliment,” said Tavia, complacently, “he believed it was all true, and only geniuses can produce that effect.” <div class="pb" id="Page_141">[141]</div> Fifteen minutes later, after several near-collisions, Ned drove the yellow car up to the entrance of the theatre, and while he was getting his check from the lobby usher, the girls tripped into the playhouse. They had box seats. With intense interest the girls watched the continuous throng pouring into their places. Few of the passing crowd, however, returned the lavish interest that was centered on them from the first floor box; no one in the vast audience knew or cared that two country girls were having their first glimpse of a New York theatre audience. They saw nothing unusual in the eager, smiling young faces, and as Dorothy said to Tavia, only the striking, unique and frightfully unusual would get more than a passing glance from those that journey through New York town. But Dorothy and Tavia did not look at the crowd long. It was something to be in a metropolitan theatre, witnessing one of the great successes of the season. Soon the curtain rolled up on the first act, a beautiful parlor scene, and Tavia gave a gasp. “Say, it beats when I went on the stage,” she whispered to Dorothy, referring to a time already related in detail in “Dorothy Dale’s Great Secret.” “Do you wish to go back?” asked Dorothy. “Never!” <div class="pb" id="Page_142">[142]</div> The play went on, and as it was something really worth while, the girls enjoyed it greatly. “Isn’t he handsome?” whispered Tavia, referring to the leading man. “Look out, or you’ll fall in love with him,” returned Ned, with a grin. “He’s one of the girls’ matinee idols, you know.” Between the acts Ned slipped out for a few minutes. He returned with a box of bonbons and chocolates. “Oh, how nice!” murmured Dorothy and Tavia. Then came the great scene of the play, and the young folks were all but spellbound. When Vice was exposed and Virtue triumphed Dorothy felt like clapping her hands, and so did the others, and all applauded eagerly. There was a short, final act. Just before the curtain arose a step sounded in the box and to the girls’ astonishment there stood Cologne. “I’ve been trying to attract your attention for ever so long,” she cried, after embracing and kissing her friends enthusiastically. “I’m spending the day with a chum. It’s such a joy to meet you like this!” “And yesterday we met Miss Mingle,” laughed Dorothy. They drew their chairs up close, and told Cologne about the attempted theft. <div class="pb" id="Page_143">[143]</div> “I’m so sorry for Miss Mingle,” Cologne said, rather guardedly, “it seems a pity that we never tried to know her better. She must have needed our sympathy and friendship so much.” “All the time, she has been one of Aunt Winnie’s tenants,” explained Dorothy. “But of course I did not know that.” “Then she must have told you about it,” said Cologne. “We’ve heard nothing,” said Dorothy, “but we expect to call there to-morrow.” “Then,” said Cologne discreetly, “I can say no more.” Soon the last act was over, the orchestra struck up a popular tune, the applause was deafening, and the audience rose to leave the theatre. “It’s all over,” said Ned, and then he greeted Cologne and her friend, Helen Roycroft. “Didn’t you like it?” exclaimed Cologne’s friend, who was a New York girl. “The critics just rave over it! Everyone must see it before anything else! But I’m hungry; aren’t you?” she asked, including all three. Ned slipped back, but Tavia grasped his arm. “There’s the most wonderful little tea-room just off Fifth Avenue,” said Helen Roycroft, with perfect self-possession and calm, “and I should so love to have you enjoy a cup of tea with me.” Tavia murmured in Ned’s ear: “Of course you’re crazy for a cup of tea.” <div class="pb" id="Page_144">[144]</div> Ned looked helplessly at Dorothy, and calculated the money in his pockets. Four girls and all hungry! Helen Roycroft, meeting a new man, lost little time in impressing him with the wonderful importance of herself, and together she and Ned led the little party over Thirty-eighth Street to Fifth Avenue, while good-natured Cologne, with Dorothy and Tavia, followed behind. The tea-room they entered, as Helen explained, was the most popular place in town for people of fashion, for artistic souls, and the moneyed, leisure class. “Everyone likes to come here,” continued Helen, in a manner that plainly suggested that she loved to show off her city, “mostly because the place was once the stable of a member of the particular four hundred, and as this is as near as most of its patrons will ever come to the four hundred, they make it a rendezvous at this particular hour every afternoon.” The “stable” still retained its original architecture, beamed ceiling and quaint stalls, painted a modest gray and white, in which were placed little tables to accommodate six persons, lighted with shaded candles. Cushioned benches were built to the sides of the stalls for seats; dainty waitresses, dressed also in demure gray and white, dispensed tea, and crackers and salads. <div class="pb" id="Page_145">[145]</div> Hidden somewhere in the dim distance, musicians played soft, low music and the whole effect was so charming that even Ned held his breath and looked around him in wonder. This tea-room was something akin to a woman’s club, where they could entertain their men friends with afternoon tea, in seclusion within the stalls. Helen Roycroft mentioned the name of a well-known actress and, trying hard to keep her enthusiasm within bounds, pointed her out to the party. The actress was seated alone in a stall, dreaming apparently, over a cup of tea. The waitress stood expectantly waiting for the young people to select their stall. When Tavia saw the actress, with whose picture they were all very familiar, she pinched Dorothy hard. “Surely we never can have such luck as to sit at the same tea table with her,” indicating the matronly actress. “Should you like to?” asked the New York girl. And forthwith they were led to the stall. The matronly-looking woman languidly raised blue, heavy-lashed eyes to the gushing young girls who invaded her domain, then put one more lump of sugar in her tea and drank it, and Tavia breathlessly watched! <div class="pb" id="Page_146">[146]</div> She was an actress of note, one of the finest in the world, and her pictures had always shown her as tall and slender and beautifully young! The woman Tavia gazed at had the face of the magazine pictures, but she was decidedly matronly; there was neither romance nor tragedy written on the smooth lines of her brow. She was so like, and yet so unlike her pictures, that Tavia fell to studying wherein lay the difference. It was rude, perhaps, but the lady in question, understood the eager brown eyes turned on her, and she smiled. And that smile made everyone begin to talk. It was quite like a family party. Ned, as the only man present, came in for the lion’s share of attention and it pleased him much. Just a whim of the noted actress perhaps, made her join gaily in the tea-party, or mayhap, it was a privilege she rarely enjoyed, this love of genuine laughter, and bright, merry talk of the fresh young school girls. And it was a moment in the lives of the girls that was never forgotten. The voices in the tea-room scarcely rose above a murmur; the music played not a note above a dreamy, floating ripple; and the essence of the freshly-made tea pervaded the air. At times Tavia could see the actress of the magazines, and again she was just somebody’s mother, tired out and drinking tea, like every mother Tavia had ever met. But the most thrilling moment of all was when she said good-bye and asked the girls to call. And best of all, she meant it—Dorothy knew that! There was no mistaking the sincerity of the voice, the kindly light of her eyes, nor the simple words of the invitation to call. <div class="pb" id="Page_147">[147]</div> “I must hurry now,” she had said, “I’m due at the theatre in another hour; but I want to see you again. I want you to tell me more of your impressions of this great city. I’ve really enjoyed this cup of tea more than you know, my dears,” and she smiled at Tavia and Dorothy. Tavia and Dorothy had really talked so much that Helen Roycroft had little chance to display her fine knowledge of city life. Cologne was well content to sit and listen. When the actress was gone, Tavia said to Dorothy: “Must we really go? I could stay here drinking tea for a week.” “I never want to see a cup of tea again,” declared Ned. “And say,” he continued, “next time I’m dragged into a ladies’ tea-room, I want an end seat! These stalls were never meant for fellows with knees where mine come!” And he painfully unwound himself from a cramped position. “Ned does have so much trouble with those knees,” explained Dorothy. “He never can have any but an end seat or box-seat at the theatre, because there is no room for his knees elsewhere. Poor boy! How uncomfortable will be your memory of this tea-room!” <div class="pb" id="Page_148">[148]</div> “It will be the loveliest memory of my trip,” Tavia declared. “We found something real and true!” “I’d give the whole world to be able to stay over,” said Cologne, plaintively. “Just one more cup of tea!” cried Dorothy, “then we’ll start for home in the yellow car.” “I’m glad it’s dark,” said Tavia, mischievously glancing at Ned, “the color combination is such wretched taste!” “I’m sorry, Cologne,” said Dorothy, “that you can’t stay and come with us to-morrow to call on Miss Mingle.” Ned was cranking up the car, and the girls for a moment were just a confused mass of muffs and feathers and kisses, then they jumped in, and drove home to the Riverside apartment. <div class="pb" id="Page_149">[149]</div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2