THOSE DALE GIRLS

CHAPTER I

“Julie Dale, you’re the laziest thing in creation! Come down from that window-seat and help.”

“Can’t, my dear,” a gay young voice responded. “I’m as ‘comfy as comfy can be.’”

“Look at her, Peter Snooks,” said Hester to a fox-terrier at her side; “just look at her! She’s curled up in a heap, reveling in that fascinating Kipling, with her mouth all screwed up for this popcorn, which she thinks we will take in state to her ladyship. But we’ll fool her—eh, Snooks? We’ll fool her completely. We’ll just sit complacently on the floor and eat it all up ourselves.”

The dog jumped about rapturously. The girl, who was kneeling before an open fire, shook a wire cage energetically over the coals, and watched the corn burst into great white flakes.

“It does smell delicious,” came in an insinuating tone from the window-seat across the room.

Hester maintained a lofty silence, and tipping the corn into a bowl, sprinkled it with salt, adding dabs of butter. She then tossed a piece to the dog, and began to sample it herself with apparent satisfaction, for she smacked her lips and said, reflectively, as she put her hands to her burning cheeks: “I believe it is quite worth ruining my complexion over.”

Suddenly she whisked up bowl and dog, and crossing the room, dropped both on the seat beside her sister. “There!” she exclaimed, “you knew I would never eat it alone, even if you are a duffer!”

“‘Duffer’ is most inelegant” (this from Julie in an assumption of stern reproach); “I do not see wherever you picked up such a word.”

“Read it in a book,” quoted Hester, laughing. This was a joke of longstanding between them—to hold literature responsible for any suspicious scraps of knowledge. It was a phrase they used also with much frequency in argument, particularly when the subject was beyond the range of their experience. “Don’t know a thing about it, read it in a book,” one of them would say facetiously, by way of backing up some remarkable statement, and feel herself at once relieved from personal responsibility.

“You need not put on such frills,” Hester now said to her sister. “You know you adore slang yourself.”

Julie was gazing out of the window. “Look, Hester, quick! There go the crew! How they are skimming down the river! I’d no idea they trained out here, had you?”

Both girls watched intently as the narrow shell shot by, the men pulling the long, steady stroke which was the pride of their university.

“Aren’t they splendid?” Hester exclaimed, enthusiastically. “I wish we knew some of the college men, Julie, don’t you?”

“It would be fun. I’d like to see something of college life. Perhaps we may meet an occasional senior if Miss Ware takes us about any this winter.”

“Do you suppose he’d be nice?” inquired Hester, quizzically. “I don’t think we know much about very young men, do you? All we’ve known have been so much older than we are.”

Julie puckered up her forehead and gazed after the vanishing crew. She was trying to classify an unknown species.

“It does seem odd,” continued Hester, “our contemplating formal society, doesn’t it? I believe I shall hate it. We have roamed around with Daddy too much to be quite like pattern society girls.”

“I tell you what we’ll do, Hester; we’ll go out with Miss Ware, meet loads of people and pick out a nice congenial few whom Dad will like, too, and just cultivate them informally. You know how Dad dislikes society in the conventional sense, but he wants us to take our proper place; and of course we ought to know people, now that we have really settled down in Radnor to live.”

“Heavens! but you’re clever, Julie! We might set up a salon; only the wise, the witty and the beautiful need apply. Which class would we come under ourselves, do you think? We can begin with Dr. Ware and all the old dears—only he never seems old a bit—that Dad is always bringing home to dinner, and add any new dears we meet and think eligible.”

Julie laughed. “It sounds like a herd or something.” Then, with sudden gravity, she said: “Hester, dear, I’m anxious about Dad. I can’t just explain it, but somehow he’s been different ever since we’ve been here. Haven’t you noticed how preoccupied he is and tired all the time, so unlike Dad? The other day I spoke to him about it, and he shook his head and said I mustn’t be so observant, that he happened to have an unusual stress of business, that was all. But I don’t know,” she continued, meditatively; “I can’t seem to throw off this queer feeling about him.”

Hester regarded her with wide-open eyes. “You frighten me, Julie.” Then leaning toward her sister, she shook her finger admonishingly. “How dare you go on having worries by yourself and not letting me know a thing about them?” she said, lightly. “I think it is all your imagination. I dare say Daddy has heaps of extra things on his hands because of all the time he spent gadding with us in Europe. Of course, that’s it, you goosey,” the idea gaining strength in her mind, “of course. You and I and Peter Snooks must be more amusing, and make him laugh and forget the ‘stress of business.’ Ugh! what a horrid expression that is! Now I think of it, he hasn’t laughed lately, Julie, has he?” She looked up with an evident desire to be contradicted.

Julie shook her head.

Hester sprang up from her seat, and seizing the dog by the forepaws, danced him violently about the room. “We need a shaking up, Peter Snooks, or we’ll not be allowed to jingle our bells any longer at the court of his majesty Dad the Great! Who ever heard of jesters neglecting their duties! His royal highness must laugh,” she said gayly, “or he’ll cry, ‘Off with their heads!’ like Alice’s fierce old queen.” She emphasized this possible calamity by swinging the dog up in the air and herself executing a daring pas seul before she dropped breathless in a chair. “I had rather die than be stupid, hadn’t you, Julie?” she gasped, between breaths.

“In that case I think you will be spared to us a while yet,” replied her sister, with quiet humor.

“So glad you think we’re a success,” Hester said, cheerfully. “Peter Snooks, do you hear? we’re a success—she approves!” The dog lay panting on the floor, and wagged his tail in understanding of the compliment. “We’ll give a private exhibition to his majesty to-night after dinner. How he will laugh! We will elaborate this feeble effort and call it ‘The Dance of Joy.’ Things are always more interesting with names,” she said, decisively. “Julie, you be showman and introduce us.”

Julie took her cue immediately, and rising, bowed low. “Ladies and gentlemen (that means Dad)—ladies and gentlemen, I shall now have the honor of presenting to your astonished vision the wonderful and original ‘Dance of Joy’—”

The library door opened suddenly, and a middle-aged woman entered and closed the door after her. She stopped just inside the threshold, and looking from one to the other with a scared face, stood wringing her hands helplessly.

“Good gracious! what is the matter, Bridget?” Julie ejaculated. “Tell us—you look frightened to death.”

The woman opened her lips and closed them with a moan. No word escaped her.

Both girls were beside her in an instant, and Julie gave her a little