Laughing Last by Jane Abbott (the rosie project .TXT) 📕

dress, now!) She did not know that Pola’s sort instinctively seeks out someone to dazzle, that Pola’s generosity was a part of the dazzling process. She thought Pola wonderful to accept so casually her gilded privileges. Why, if Pola didn’t like a dress or a hat or a pair of shoes she simply didn’t wear it; she could buy anything she wanted from any one of the priceless bits of jewelry in the shops at Hyannis to the delectable sweets in the tea-rooms on Commercial Street. She could do just as she pleased—even more than Mart, for she never had to darn or mend or wipe dishes or dust or hang up her clothes or brush them. Realizing all this Sidney came to forgive that first condescension that had stung; she thought Pola little short of an angel to be so prettily friendly with them all.

So engrossed was Sidney in basking in Pola’s favor that for a time she felt no compunctions at deserting Mart and Lavender; in fact she did not even think of them. Both Mart and Lavender had become suddenly very busy with affairs that kept them out of sight. If, once in awhile, Sidney wondered what they were doing something of Pola’s or something Pola said quickly crowded the thought from her head. But one afternoon they encountered Mart as they strolled toward the Green Lantern to sit under its gay awnings and drink tea. Sidney introduced Mart to Pola and to cover Pola’s rude stare she added quickly: “We’re going down to the Green Lantern, Mart. Won’t you come with us?” conscious as she said it that her voice sounded stilted.

“No, thanks. I’m going to do something lots more exciting than sitting there! And I’m in a hurry, too.” And with that Mart swung on past them, her head high.

Sidney had a moment’s longing to run after her and coax her to come, but Pola’s light giggle checked her. “Isn’t she a riot? I’d have died if she’d come with us!”

“Oh, Pola—she’ll hear you!” pleaded Sidney.

She hated herself because she did not tell Pola at once how bravely Mart shouldered her responsibilities, about gran’ma, who looked to Mart for everything. Instead she simply walked along with Pola and let Pola giggle. Pola, sensing Sidney’s feelings, slipped her arm through hers and gave it an affectionate little squeeze.

“You’re such a funny child,” she said softly. “You’d be nice to anything. I can’t, of course, for I go around to so many places and mother’s warned me often about strangers. Anyway, it’s lots nicer for just us two to be together, isn’t it?”

But in spite of Pola’s soft flattery and countless lumps of sugar the tea tasted bitter to Sidney and the Green Lantern, with its futurist awnings, its bizarre hangings and cushions, had no allure. The thought came suddenly to Sidney that it had been a whole week since she had even seen Mart; in that time she had scarcely exchanged more than a half dozen words with Lavender.

To the tune of Pola’s ceaseless chatter Sidney’s thoughts kept darting back to that uncomfortable fact. Pola always talked of things she had done at home, abroad, at school, of her boy friends whom she called “men.” She liked to hint of countless “affairs” which simply must not come to her mother’s attention, assuring Sidney that she was absolutely the only one to whom she confided these deep intrigues. She had worn Guy Townsend’s fraternity pin the whole winter before and not a soul had known whose pin it was for Guy was tabooed by mothers in general and Mrs. Allan in particular. Now Pola was simply crazy over a Jack Sicard who was playing the lead in “Hearts Aquiver.” But not even Jack’s manly beauty, as described by Pola, failed to draw from Sidney more than a mild: “He must be cute.” Pola gave way to vexation.

“You’re scarcely listening to me, Sidney Romley, when I’m telling you things I haven’t told a soul! I believe you’re still thinking of that ridiculous girl we met.”

“She isn’t ridiculous!” Sidney was prompt enough now in Mart’s defense. “She looks funny, but you see I’ve gotten well acquainted with her and she’s awfully nice.”

“Oh, nice, of course! But anyone can be nice! You know perfectly well, Sidney, that there’s as much class in this country as there is in Europe and being nice does not break down social barriers.”

Sidney had no answer ready for this. Curiously into her mind flashed what Mr. Dugald had said about the solid aristocracy. But somehow she knew Pola would not understand this. Pola went on:

“I’m a dreadful little snob, anyway. But I suppose that is the result of my education. It would be funny to go to the most expensive schools and have all the culture that Europe can offer and not be a snob.”

Still Sidney stared into her teacup. She thought Pola was all wrong, but she did not know how to say it. Pola herself had told her that she had gone to Grace Hall because it had no examinations and graduated a girl anyway—so much for Pola’s education. And culture—what benefited all the culture of Europe if Pola found enjoyment only in the company of youths her mother would not permit in the house?

Pola mistook Sidney’s silence for hurt. “You goose, I’m not saying I think I’m any better than you are! But you must see that neither of us are a bit like that native girl!” Which admission Pola considered most generous.

“I wasn’t thinking about whether you are any better than I am or not. I’ve been brought up, you see,” with a rueful laugh, “to believe that my father being a poet set me a little apart from everyone else. And I’ve hated it. What I was thinking was that there really isn’t any class difference in people—except what we make ourselves, like the League building a barrier around me and you thinking you’re in another class from Mart because you’re rich. Maybe it isn’t really the outside things that count, maybe it’s the big things we have got or haven’t got inside us—”

“Like what?” demanded Pola.

Sidney was thinking of Lav’s self-effacing ambition to serve the world from the seclusion of a laboratory, of Mart’s cheerfulness in the face of her lot and her loyal affection for her exacting and rheumatic grandmother; of the courage of Mart’s grandfather, Ambrose Calkins, who had lost his own life in going back to his sinking schooner for the cook who could not swim; of her own ancestor, Priscilla Ellis. Those were the things which set people apart from their fellows, Sidney thought, but the understanding was too new in her own heart for her to find words in which she could tell Pola of it. “Like what?” Pola demanded again and this time her voice was a little haughty.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sidney laughed. “I’m all mixed up. I guess I was trying to say something Mr. Dugald said once to me.”

“Oh, Dug!” laughed Pola. “He’s nutty about all that! Look at the way he lives here on the Cape. But mother says he’ll get over it when he marries. Now I have no intention of getting serious this grand day so let’s have another piece of that chocolate fudge cake—it’s on me, too, remember!” Which was Pola’s pretty way of pretending she did not know that Sidney did not have any money with her. The dollar Sidney had earned for posing had long since been spent.

Sidney was relieved that Pola had rescued her from the “deep water.” At the same time she suffered from the sense that she had not made Pola see Mart in another light. She had failed in loyalty. The sparkling blue of the bay that stretched before them only reminded her that this was the hour she usually went swimming. Due to Pola’s “complex” she had not gone swimming for a whole week.

Even with her mouth full of the fudge cake, she vowed to herself that the very next day she would hunt out her chums and her old pastimes. Pola and Mr. Dugald must plan without her!

She had promised to dine again at the hotel with Pola and her mother but as soon as she could after dinner she returned to Sunset Lane. Because of her determination her heart was lighter. And her way was made easier, too, for Mrs. Allan had told Pola at dinner that the “Truxtons were at Chatham Bars.” Pola had been as excited over the Truxtons as her mother.

“Can we go and see them right away?”

“Not tonight. But I have arranged for a car and Shields will drive us over tomorrow. We can stay there for a few days. I shall welcome the change for this place has been very stupid for me, my dear.”

“Poor mamma! I’ve been selfish. It’ll be a lark seeing Cora Truxton again!” Pola had explained to Sidney: “We met the Truxtons at Nice. Cora and Millicent are both older, but they’re the cutest girls. Will we go in the morning, mamma?”

Pola’s manner had indicated that the coming of the Truxtons into their plans raised a barrier that now excluded Sidney. Throughout the dinner she had talked exclusively of the trip on the morrow and the renewing of that acquaintance that had begun in Nice. But Sidney felt nothing but a sense of escape.

She found Aunt Achsa alone in the cottage on Sunset Lane. She was sitting on the doorstep, “coolin’ off.” Sidney sat down beside her.

“Where’s Lavender?” she asked, wishing Lavender was at home that she might begin her “making up” at once.

“Don’t know. And I wish I did. Don’t know what’s gotten into that boy. I’m as worried as can be.”

“About Lav? Oh, what’s the matter?” For Aunt Achsa was close to tears. Something must have happened to break her habitual optimism.

“He’s acted so queer like lately. Cal’late you’d of noticed it if you hadn’t been off so much with Mr. Dugald’s folks. I thought it might a’ been his stomach and I put a powder into his coffee, but he ain’t been a mite different—”

“But what does he do, Aunt Achsa? He looks all right—”

Now Aunt Achsa hesitated. One tear separated itself from its fellows and rolled down her withered cheek and dropped upon her withered hand. She looked at it, startled, then lifted her hand and dashed it across her eyes.

“I swum, I’m cryin’. Don’t know as I know when I’ve cried before. And cryin’ before I have anything as I can see to cry for. But Sidney, I set such a lot on that boy—it’s like I was his mother and his father and his brothers and his sisters all mixed up in one—gran’ma, too. He was such a little mite when I took him, y’see and then he’s not like other boys and I’ve had to do a heap of lovin’ to make up to him. I’ve prayed every day of my life for the Lord to keep him happy in spite of things and that was a pretty big prayer for I don’t suppose the Lord wants us all to be happy all the time, that ain’t His way of bringing us up. But I thought He might make an exception for Lav. Land sakes, how I go on—and you nigh to cryin’ yourself.” For she had caught Sidney blinking back something glistening from her own eyes.

“Aunt Achsa, Lavender is wonderful. He’s talked to me a lot and he’s going to be a great man some day, I know. He has the grandest plans shut away in his heart and he is happy—”

Aunt Achsa looked at her, startled. “Plans—how can he when he’s—” She bit off the words. Her lips trembled.

“Aunt Achsa, it