Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Illustrated) (427 page)

*****

On impulse, she brushed her hair before the mirror, climbed the ladder, pushed open a slanting strip of glass, and scrambled to the roof. In the clear autumn air her sense of oppression lifted. She shivered, not from cold, but as if shaking from her what she left below.

On her right was a fire escape leading to an alley, and northward were four old-fashioned skylights projecting from the flat continuous roof. The second would be Miss Terhune’s. Dolly’s shoes sounded flat on the cemented pebbles as she walked toward it. Framed vividly by the intersecting planes of the parallelepiped, a face stared out at her and shouted, “Can you hear me?”

“Heavens,
yes
!” She stopped with her back against a chimney.

“I wondered if you could,” Clarke said. “I’ve been yelling ever since I caught sight of you. And I’ve been sitting on this ladder for almost an hour. Where’ve you been?”

“I told you I wasn’t coming.”

“Oh, but that’s just like a girl. Honest, though, I
did
think you weren’t coming. I thought I’d come over and give you measles in revenge, and then we’d be quarantined together.”

“You look quite dumb in there,” Dolly said. “I don’t want to be quarantined with you, the way you look.”

“You look dumb out there. Which is funniest — you that can’t come in, or me that can’t come out?”

“The whole roof is kind of dumb, isn’t it?”

“Well, why do you live in such a funny old town?”

She was about to say “I don’t know” when the fact swept over her that she
didn’t
know. Standing here beside a chimney on a prairie of roofs seemed as logical a location as any she had been in for months.

What Clarke said next was as good as though he had guessed her thoughts: “I was looking at a cloud, and then you stepped out of it.”

It was almost too much. And Dolly couldn’t say, “Open the skylight and let me come down and have your measles with you.” All she could say was, “Good-by. Glad you’re looking so well.”

“Are you
going?
”

“I’ve got to get back.”

“Oh, bunk! Your uncle won’t mind. My aunt says she used to know him.”

For an instant Dolly felt the urge to tell Clarke everything. But he was so beautiful there in his glass prison. She would not let her troubles come even that near to touching him, if she could help it.

*****

Dolly worked late at lessons, and was rather upset, deep in the evening, when Miss Willie flew up with some drugstore sandwiches and the information that her Uncle Charlie sent his love.

“Has he had the doctor?”

“Of course.”

But somehow Dolly was far from reassured.

Next afternoon, after leaving her friends at school with staccato assurances that they would meet at the party, she pondered the advisability of wiring her father. On her way upstairs she heard Miss Willie’s voice in the major’s room:

“You had studs when we left.”

“I have studs now, if I can find them. Cheer up! I can always borrow Uncle Charlie’s.”

Miss Willie laughed. It was an unpleasant laugh, both shrill and shrunken, like a bird so used to being scared that she never knew whether to start a song or not. Dolly, heartened by her familiar day at school, was once again tempted to try Uncle Charlie’s door; but a sudden scuffle in the major’s room sent her flying upstairs in a panic.

“What must I do?” she asked herself. “I can’t tell anybody, because it’s my uncle’s house.”

On her way downstairs some time later, she heard the major and Miss Willie bickering in the lower hall, and drew back in the shadows. But from the sudden fading of their voices she knew that they had heard her footsteps, so she continued on down.

The major wore a full-dress suit. His stick like a slung gun, the white gleam of his gloves, the thin string of his monocle — all these made Dolly sure he would be a success at Angela Duckney’s that evening. And she resented it. She was sorry now that she had ever introduced him to the older girl.

“Ah, the future debutante,” remarked the major gallantly. “May I drop you anywhere?”

“Oh, no. I’m just going around the comer.”

*****

Throughout the supper and the finding of old friends under black satin dominoes, Dolly was haunted by the image of the Englishman. She had never before known what it was to hate, for her father had thrown a protective screen about the motherless girl.

The Halloweeners, about to start outdoors for the real fun of the evening, stood in a group of two dozen, black-masked, clown-white with flour. Suddenly Dolly wiped the flour from her hand on a bare spot under John Hamilton’s ear.

“Hey, quit!” he protested.” Or, if you
must
act your age, try it on the boyfriend.”

“What boy friend?” she asked John.

“Oh, you don’t know? Well, everybody else in your school seems to know his name. Clarke Somebody.”

“Clarke Cresswell? Why, how — Where is he?”

“Over there, lapping up ice cream.”

A tough voice broke out suddenly over the soft young raillery: “All out, now — one by one. Just a formality, boys and girls.”

“I think that man’s a detective!” John whispered into Dolly’s ear. “Something’s been stolen, I bet.”

She scarcely heard him. As they trooped toward the door she kept looking about for Clarke, hoping to spot him before the mask dropped over her face and obscured her vision. The edge of the mask was tipped at the door and the rough voice said, “O.K., little lady.”

*****

She was next to the last one out; the last was a girl clown-white with flour. On the front steps the host stood and whispered something to three men who kept their hands in their pockets. The party hesitated on the sidewalk.

“Go on, go on, children,” directed the host suddenly. “What’s happened doesn’t concern you.”

It was just at that moment that, from some person indistinguishable in the darkness, Dolly heard a trill of high birdish laughter.

Miss Willie! Which one of the masked faces was hers — and where, oh, where was Clarke? There! That tall one. She darted toward him and lifted her mask.

“Well!” he exclaimed. “Well, where were
you
when the crown jewels disappeared? I thought sure you had them.”

“I thought sure you had the measles.”

“So did the doctor; but that was his mistake. He just thought if everybody in my school had measles I must have them too.” In the light of a street lamp he bent to look at her. “You’re shaking! What’s the matter?”

A sob broke from Dolly. “I’m worried about Uncle Charlie. They won’t let me see him.”

“Who won’t?”

“The friends that are staying with him.” Even in her anxiety she forced herself to be no more specific.

“Anything I can do?”

They were tagging a little behind the others. Suddenly she said, “I think he’s alone now. I want to see him. Will you duck the crowd and go with me?”

Uncle Charlie’s front door was locked and Dolly had no key.

“I’ve
got
to see my uncle,” she said. “Can’t we climb up that fire escape in the alley? It goes right by his room.”

Clarke inspected, then reported back: “It’s ten feet off the ground. But we can go through my aunt’s house and over the roof.”

Miss Terhune’s. house was inky black, but when they came out on the roof cold autumn stars were showing.

“Now tell me what it’s all about,” Clarke demanded.

It was about her pride, but she could never tell him that. “Aren’t the stars nice?” she said. “China eyes.”

“Honestly, you’re the funniest girl I ever knew! Once I thought you and I had a lot in common, but — “

“How’ll we get down to Uncle Charlie’s room?” Dolly interrupted.

“The fire escape, of course. We can get down, even if we can’t get up.”

The night was chilly, but Dolly felt warm. They backed down the iron skeleton, Clarke ahead so that if she slipped she would fall into his arms. On the second landing they faced a dark window.

“It’s stuck,” whispered Clarke. “I’ll try from the top.”

That worked, and she scrambled in.

“Can I come in?” Clarke whispered from the fire escape.

“Yes — and turn on the lights!”

The bed sprang into life. It was a great dust-covered heap of blankets and pillows piled a yard high.

There wasn’t any Uncle Charlie, then, and never had been. Dolly knew it, plain as plain. “May I come back to your house?” she asked. “And stay all night at Miss Terhune’s?”

“You know you can.”

“Let’s go,” she said. “Now!”

“But what about your uncle?”

“I never want to hear of him again. And I don’t want you to tell Miss Terhune anything!”

“All right, if you don’t want me to. We’ll just tell her you got locked out.”

“Come on! Hurry!” Dolly had heard the sound of voices and footsteps in the lower hall.

*****

Major Redfern usually tipped the taxi driver, but tonight he only had a brusque “Thanks very much” and a stray thought as to whether the driver would be liable to remember where he had picked up his fare.

For the major had seen a ghost at the exact moment when he had presented Angela Duckney’s card at her ball. Even though seen obliquely and halfway across the room, the major had identified it immediately as that of one Hep J. Morrison, who was built on somewhat the same ruthless dimensions as himself. There was no room there for both of them, so the major withdrew precipitately, even neglecting to go down the receiving line.

But he felt sure, as he stood in front of the checkroom, that his business rival had not seen him.

“Yes, my hat. And a cape and a stick,” he agreed mildly.

Let there be no ambiguity at this point. The major was a bad man with high hopes, and the Baltimore venture had been among his hopes. But with Hep J. Morrison working the same town there were no more hopes.

Except, of course, the little girl! He considered the possibilities all the way home. Then, turning from the taxicab, he saw a small form on the stoop, shivering in a black domino and with a face so caked with flour that he hardly recognized it.

He opened the door, almost throwing Miss Willie inside. “Now what is it? Where’ve you been?”

“Look!” Out of her pocket she drew an emerald bracelet. Then from the top of her stocking she produced a platinum-and-diamond wrist watch. “Look at that!” she sang proudly.

“Where did you get this stuff?”

“At the party around the corner. I didn’t touch anything else — honest! There wasn’t another thing worth taking.”

“Once a klep, always a klep,” he said. “Look here. We’re leaving right away. Hep Morrison was at the ball, so we’ll have to try Atlanta. Where’s Dolly?”

“She’s still with the party. They have no idea who snitched the stuff.”

He unwound his white scarf, folded it, and put it in his side pocket. “Soon as we’re packed we’ll go find that kid and then clear out. Is there anything to drink?”

“There’s some gin up in ‘Uncle Charlie’s room.’”

With that the major and Miss Willie went upstairs.

*****

Dolly had left her bag behind in that awful house, and the fact haunted her at school next day. She was even more worried when, after her first class, she was summoned to Miss Terhune’s study.

“Sit down, Dolly.” The teacher leaned forward over her desk and said, “Tell me: Was there any trouble at your uncle’s last night? My nephew won’t tell me a thing.”

“All I want to do is get my bag, Miss Terhune. I left it there, you know. Then I’m going back to the Appletons’. But I certainly appreciate your taking me in last night.”

Miss Terhune shifted in her chair. “Dolly, a telegram has just come from your father. He is on his way to Baltimore. And until he arrives you’d better stay right with me. This afternoon I’ll have Clarke go with you to get your bag. And if your uncle is there, tell him I’d like to see him.”

The door of 2008 was open when they got there, and the front blinds were up. Dolly peered in cautiously. Then she turned to Clarke and said, “There’s three men inside. Will you go in with me?”

They were jostled suddenly by an expressman who had been trundling a small truck in the street. “Who you looking for?” he demanded.

“I happen to have left a small suitcase here,” said Dolly.

“Well, talk to the man that owns the place.”

The children hesitated, but were swept almost literally into the hall ahead of the expressman and his trunk. “Even before they were well inside, a man collared Clarke and marched him toward two other men within. The first was a quiet gray-haired man of fifty in the act of pulling a piece of cloth from a painting; the second was a grim-faced six-footer with a pad in his hand.

“That’s not the pair,” said the gray-haired man. “Why, these are just kids. What do you want here?”

“They might be working for the couple — “ began the tall detective.

But the gray-haired man was looking at Dolly, “Open that other window,” he said. She returned his gaze without fear, for he seemed like her own sort at last. And as the light came in he said, “You’re Morton Haines’ child.”

“Are you Uncle Charlie?” Dolly demanded.

The man with the notebook was also surveying Dolly closely. In a low voice he said,” Be careful, Mr. Craig.”

“It’s all right,” said Uncle Charlie. “This is my niece.”

Dolly made one of those lightning decisions that sometimes got her in trouble, sometimes stood her in good stead. She would never say anything about what had occurred — never anything at all.

Catching the negative headshake by which she signaled this decision to Clarke, the detective frowned.

But Charlie Craig continued, “It’s all right. I’d vouch for her anywhere, with her father’s eyes and nose.”

“Well, if you’re sure, sir.”