Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Illustrated) (426 page)

“You sure, now, these people expect you?”

“Well, Mrs. Martin said she telephoned both places before she fixed things up; so if it wasn’t the Sidneys’, this must be where I’m expected Somebody has to take me in,” she added wryly. The little girl’s name was Dolly Haines and her age was thirteen.

The door was suddenly answered by a youth whom Dolly had never seen before. Startled by the strange face, Dolly turned back to Hazeldawn: “Don’t go yet. There may be some mistake.”

“The Appletons don’t seem to be around,” the boy said. “There was a maid awhile ago, but she doesn’t seem to be around either.” Seeing her hesitate, and experiencing a quick response to her beauty, he added, “But come in. Glad to have you. I been making myself at home for two hours.”

He was fifteen, tall without being gangling, ruddy-cheeked and full of laughter and loose in his clothes. Liking him immediately, sophistication flowed into Dolly. She said to the Negress:

“Thanks oodles, Hazeldawn, Tell the postman about the mail — and bring me my laundry when it’s ready.”

The boy carried her bag and Dolly followed. They sat on the sofa in the living room, at home within five minutes.

Clarke Cresswell turned on the radio. “I’m beginning to think I own this place,” he said. “Have you been here before?”

“This’ll be the third time — if they take me in. I’ve been visiting around like this since father got sick last April, and I’m tired of it.”

“Don’t I understand!” the boy agreed darkly. “My parents were drowned in China when I was two, and I was shipped home by registered mail. I’ve been a guest ever since. But I’m not
visiting
the Appletons,” Clarke went on; “I’m only here for dinner. They’ve got measles at my prep school, so I’m visiting my aunt, Miss Grace Terhune.”

The name made Dolly sit up. “Why, she’s the assistant headmistress of my school!”

“Don’t blame me.”

She wouldn’t have blamed him for anything.

“Let’s light a fire,” he suggested, and she agreed that a fire
would
be nice.

They sat before it and discussed what makes a girl popular and such matters until a maid called Dolly to the phone. It was Mrs. Appleton:

“I’m so sorry, Dolly. We’ve been delayed. We ran over a pig near Annapolis and we thought it was a man. It looked just like a man… Have Evelyn cook supper for you and Clarke right away.”

Dolly looked at herself in the hall mirror before she went back into the library. She had never been happy in just this way before, and she wanted to see what she’ looked like. Returning to the fireside, she said, “Go on.”

“What were we talking about?” Clarke asked.

*****

Next day there was an invitation to a Halloween party and a letter from her father:

You’re always regretting the lack of relatives. Well, now you’ve got one. Cousin Charlie Craig (uncle to you!) is on his way back home after ten years in Europe. His house is at 2008 St. Paul Street. Go call on him — he writes me that he’ll be delighted either to put you up or dress you down while I’m away. He’s peculiar, but I think you’ll like him.

The news was interesting, but it was overshadowed by the more vivid presence in the city of Clarke Cress-well. Or rather his specter, for Dolly didn’t see him again all that week. At last she inquired around school whether any of the girls had met him. Her eagerness was communicated to her friends. Overnight he became a sort of legend: “Has
any
one met Clarke Cresswell?”

When Saturday arrived, Dolly thumbed through the telephone book. In a moment the fact that an uncle was in town became the most important thing in the world. For Miss Grace Terhune, Clarke’s aunt, lived only two doors away from him.

She had been considering a shopping trip to the five-and-ten, but now it was plain that her duty was to call on her uncle.

St. Paul Street was in the old residential section. On summer days the passer-by could glance through the tall windows at family portraits that had hung undisturbed for a hundred years.

But today the blinds on 2008 were drawn and there was such a long silence after Dolly rang the bell that she nearly gave up. Then the door opened a little way and a birdlike young woman cooed, “What is it?”

“I’m Dolly Haines. I came to see my Uncle Charlie.”

The tiny woman scrutinized her, and Dolly thought she was very pretty with her doll’s hair and china-blue eyes. “Who sent you?” the woman asked.

“My father. He wanted me to call on Uncle Charlie because I’ve never met him and he thought I ought to.”

The woman hesitated. Then she said, “Well, I’ll see. You come in.”

Dolly stepped into the hall and the door closed behind her. Inside it was very dim. Rectangles of cheesecloth indicated paintings on the wall, and the same material protected clocks, busts, lamps, and books.

“I didn’t mean to call so soon,” said Dolly. “I know Uncle Charlie just got home.”

“How did you know?”

“Father told me.” Dolly was glad, in view of the woman’s inhospitable attitude, that she had brought her father’s letter. “This’ll tell who I am.”

The woman took the letter and held it to a bulb of dim orange in the hall. Then she said, “Wait a minute, little girl, right where you are,” and flew up the long stairs. Then a door opened and closed above.

As she waited, Dolly’s mind began to turn on the house two doors farther on.. Her reverie was interrupted by a man coming downstairs. He was tall and handsome, with a blond hairline mustache; he held out a friendly hand and said, “Hello there! Bit dark, what?”

“Are you my Uncle Charlie?”

*****

“What? No; name’s Redfern — Major Redfern. Sorry to say Charlie’s not up to much today. Touch of liver… Do you live around here?”

“I used to live with father. But he got arthritis and had to go to New Mexico.” Dolly rambled on for a moment, even though she had still to be asked to sit down.

Major Redfern interrupted her suddenly: “You’ll soon be a debutante, won’t you?”

“Me? Oh, not me — not for a long time. But I know a lot of debutantes who went to my school last year.”

“Did they, now? Who? I have letters of introduction to some debutantes, but I seem to have mislaid them.”

Dolly began naming debutantes she knew. Major Redfern interrupted:

“Duckney? That’ll be the daughter of L. P. Duckney, won’t it? The one who’s having a big party Monday night?”

“I suppose so. I sit behind her in church.”

He laid down the hat and stick he carried. “Forgot something upstairs,” he said.

“If Uncle Charlie is sick, tell him never mind,” Dolly called after him. “I can come another time.”

“No, no. Sit tight. He wants to see you.”

Presently the little woman flutterde down, Major Redfern after her. The woman was more friendly now; she introduced herself as Miss Willie Shugrue, adding, “Your uncle can’t see you today, but he sent his love.”

“My father’s been sick too, so I can sympathize.”

“I’m the trained nurse,” volunteered Miss Willie. “But I — “

Major Redfern interrupted abruptly: “I’ll do the talking.” Then, to Dolly, “Always welcome here in . Charlie’s house, I know. Maybe you’d like to pay us a little visit.”

“I couldn’t exactly leave these people I’m visiting right now,” Dolly said. “I’d be glad to come later, though.” Dolly felt that the call had run its course. “Good-by. Tell Uncle Charlie I hope he feels better tomorrow.”

“Well — I may see you in church tomorrow,” said the major. “What church do you go to, by the way?”

Dolly told him.

Once the door had closed, her uncle’s household was far behind her. Did she dare ask Mrs. Appleton, she wondered, to invite Clarke to luncheon? Could a guest ask such a favor? If not, she would probably never see Clarke again, and at that dismal thought a wave of revolt swept over her. After all, Mrs. Appleton had been her mother’s best friend. With her lips moving in rehearsal, she went slowly upstairs toward Mrs. Appleton’s room.

Then, just outside the closed door, she stopped — her name had suddenly twisted through the keyhole.

“Dolly is here because she had no other place to go.”

“But I don’t see why
we
have to be the ones, mother. Does her father expect her to visit all the rest of her life?”

“That doesn’t sound like you, Lila.”

“Well, I can’t help it. I’d
counted
on having these girls for a visit,and now Dolly’s got the guest room.Don’t tell
me
that charity begins at home!”

Dolly tiptoed to her room, packed her suitcase hurriedly, dashed off a note to Mrs. Appleton explaining that her Uncle Charlie wanted her to visit there for a week, and crept unobserved from the house.

*****

In the morning she walked to church with Major Redfern. She had passed a curious evening, with the major beating years of dust out of a bed and Miss Willie flitting about, not at all like the trained nurse who had taken care of her father last spring.

“Dashed unlucky about those letters of introduction,” said the major as they walked along. “Of course I came down to look after your Uncle Charlie, but I planned to
have
a bit of amusement, too. And now I can’t find the things. I say, be a good fellow and introduce me to the thingumbob girl if we run into her.”

Dolly was glad to be of service. As the crowd rolled into church she spotted Angela in the vestibule and introduced major. Angela, good-natured and full of her current importance, was more than charmed.

“How long will you be here, Major Redfern?”

“Couldn’t say. Been taking care of Dolly’s uncle and haven’t had a chance to see the city. Seems a bit dead to an outsider, you know.”

“You mustn’t be an outsider. We take a certain pride in our hospitality.”

During the service DolIy divided the congregation into quadrants and scanned each sector for the sight of a tall young form, but to no avail, so with regret she followed the major and Angela down the aisle.

“Of
course
you must come,” the young lady was saying. “There’s no time to send you a formal invitation, but I’ll just write ‘Monday evening’ on my calling card and give it to you right now.”

As they emerged into the sunshine it occurred to Dolly that in spite of being handsome the major had a sort of trigger face; if the nose pressed down only a little more it might touch his mouth and precipitate an explosion. He’s a fast worker, she thought. Like Clarke: Clarke was a fast worker, too. But where was he? Back at school? She must know — right off.

Her impatience must have been apparent, for as they walked away the major said, “Not polite to leave any one so quickly. Really ought to consider manners, what?”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s America,” said the major tolerantly. “This little Duckney — she’s the type, now. Not a brain in her head. Just an easy clink, that’s all.”

“What’s a clink?” inquired Dolly.

“Eh?” He looked at her sharply. “Oh, that’s just an expression.”

Now they were approaching Miss Terhune’s house… But what was that upon the door — that rectangle of pink? She came close enough to read the one word:
Measles
.

The major must have seen the dismay in her face.” What’s trouble?”

“I just forgot — I got to get something at the drugstore.”

“Well, cheerio. By the way, I wouldn’t mention your Uncle Charlie there. He doesn’t want it known that he’s ill.”

*****

In the drugstore she telephoned Miss Terhune’s house and asked for Clarke Gresswell.

“I saw that sign on your house — “

“I hoped nobody would.”

“I’m staying with my uncle in the same row as you,” she ran on hurriedly. “So I just called up.”

“I’m not in bed; I loaf around and play the radio. Say, listen: have you got a funny skylight — like a box, sort of — on top of your house?”

“
Have
we? It’s right in the ceiling outside my door.”

“Well, after dinner, you come on out of your skylight and you’ll see me in mine. You won’t catch any measles.”

“My uncle wouldn’t like it,” she said perversely. “And anyhow I’ve got to make a Halloween costume. Good-by.”

Dolly walked home thoughtfully. As the door closed her into the gloomy front hall, the feeling of desertion came back. Meeting Miss Willie on her way upstairs, she said, “Is my uncle better? Couldn’t I see him today?”

“Not today. He’s not well enough.”

“He knows I’m here?”

“Yes; he wants you to make yourself at home.”

After dinner she set to work on her costume while the major smoked and Miss Willie looked on.

“Where’s your party going to be?” she asked Dolly.

“Just around the corner.”

“Some friends?”

“Of course,” said Dolly. “A girl I’ve known all my life.”

“Isn’t that jolly!” said the major, turning to Miss Willie. “Dolly and I will both be stepping out tomorrow night. Beastly shame
you
have to stay home with Uncle Charlie.”

Miss Willie didn’t answer.

“What’s the costume?”

“Sort of black thing with a mask, like a witch. We’re going all around the neighborhood and howl — that sort of thing.”

“Are these rich people?” asked Miss Willie.

“Stow it,” the major said abruptly.

Looking up at him, Dolly decided that she didn’t like him, after all. She didn’t like him any better than she did Miss Willie. Why did Uncle Charlie keep such people around?

“Do you like your school?” asked Miss Willie quickly.

“Very much. And I’ve got oodles of English history to study.”

Gathering her sawing, she went upstairs. As she passed Uncle Charlie’s room she hesitated for a moment, tempted to open the door quietly and at least look in upon the sick man. She was convinced that he was being neglected, for Miss Willie seemed a poor sort of nurse.

But she passed on up to her third-floor room. There was the pillbox skylight, reached by a cute little ladder, and she wondered if Clarke were really waiting for her two roofs away.