"All right, are you?" he said, as coolly as if they had not been
anywhere in sight. "Well, good night and good luck!" And he got into the
taxicab and drove away, leaving me in the hands of the Enemy.
The next morning I was sent back to school. They never gave me a chance
to explain, for mother went into hysterics, after accusing me of having
men dangling around waiting at every corner. They had to have a doctor,
and things were awful.
The only person who said anything was Sis. She came to my room that
night when I was in bed, and stood looking down at me. She was very
angry, but there was a sort of awe in her eyes.
"My hat's off to you, Barbara," she said. "Where in the world do you
pick them all up? Things must have changed at school since I was there."
"I'm sick to death of the Other Sex," I replied languidley. "It's no
punishment to send me away. I need a little piece and quiet." And I did.
CONCLUSION: All this holaday week, while the girls are away, I have been writing
this Theme, for Literature class. To-day is New Years and I am putting
in the finishing touches. I intend to have it tiped in the village and
to send a copy to father, who I think will understand, and another copy,
but with a few lines cut, to Mr. Grosvenor. The nice one. There were
some things he did not quite understand, and this will explain.
I shall also send a copy to Carter Brooks, who came out handsomly with
an apoligy this morning in a letter and a ten pound box of Candy.
His letter explains everything. H. is a real person and did not come
out of a Cabinet. Carter recognized the photograph as being one of a
Mr. Grosvenor he went to college with, who had gone on the stage and
was playing in a stock company at home. Only they were not playing Xmas
week, as business, he says, is rotten then. When he saw me writing the
letter he felt that it was all a bluff, especialy as he had seen me
sending myself the violets at the florists.
So he got Mr. Grosvenor, the blonde one, to pretend he was Harold
Valentine. Only things slipped up. I quote from Carter's letter:
"He's a bully chap, Bab, and he went into it for a lark, roses and poems
and all. But when he saw that you took it rather hard, he felt it wasn't
square. He went to your father to explain and apologized, but your
father seemed to think you needed a lesson. He's a pretty good Sport,
your father. And he said to let it go on for a day or two. A little
worry wouldn't hurt you."