Dorothy Dale in the City Part 33

"That was father!" said Dorothy. "What else did he say?"

"Nothin'," replied the man, "but the old feller was maddern a wet hen!"

"Poor father!" thought Dorothy, as she handed an apple to one of the small boys. "No doubt I'm very foolish to have done this thing. Father will never forgive me for running away and staying until this late hour.

I really didn't think about anything, though. It did seem so important to bring home the things. I can't bear to think that to-morrow night and the next night and the next, Tommy and his mother will be here, worrying and cold and hungry."

She served each of the children a steaming dish of oatmeal, floating in milk, and was surprised to find how hungry she was herself. She looked critically at the messy table, the cracked bowls, and tin spoons, and democratic as she knew herself to be, she couldn't-simply couldn't-eat on that kitchen-bedroom-living-room table.

The creaking of the steps and a heavy footfall pausing before the door, caused a moment's hush. A knock on the portal and Tommy flew to open it.

On the threshold stood Major Dale, very soldierly and dignified, and he stared into the room through the dim light until he discovered Dorothy.

She ran to him and threw her arms about his neck before he could utter a word.

"Dear daddy!" she murmured, so glad to see one of her own people, and she realized in that instant a sense of comfort and ease to know she was well cared for, and had a dear, old dignified father.

"I forgot," she said, repentantly, "I should have been home hours ago, I know, but you must hear the whole story, before you scold me."

For Major Dale to ever scold Dorothy was among the impossible things, and to have scolded her in this instance, the furthest thing from his mind.

The children stood about gazing at Major Dale in awed silence.

"There are so many, father," said Dorothy, "to have to live in these close quarters. If they could just be transported to a farm, or some place out in the open!"

"Perhaps they could be," answered Major Dale, "but first, I must take you home. We'll discuss the future of Tommy and his family, after you are safely back with Aunt Winnie."

"Couldn't James be placed somewhere in the country? I want to know now, before I leave them, perhaps never to see them again," pleaded Dorothy to her father. "Say that you know some place for James to work that will take the family away from this awful city."

"We'll see, daughter," said the major kindly. "I guess there is some place for him and the little ones."

"He's so willin' to work for us," explained the mother, "and we'd love to be in the country. We both grew up in a country town, and I'll go back to-morrow morning. It's nothin' but struggling here from one year's end to the other, and we grow poorer each year."

"Many a hard day's work I've done on the farm," said the six-feet-four-husband, "and I'm good for many more. I'll work at anything that's steady, and that'll help me keep a roof over the family."

"I'm so glad to hear you say so!" cried Dorothy, in delight. "I'm sure we will find some work in the country for you, and before many weeks you can leave this place, and find happiness in a busy, country life."

On the trip uptown, Dorothy asked about the family at home, feeling very much as though she had been away on a long trip and anxious to see them all once again.

"We began to grow worried about an hour before the telephone message came," her father said, "Aunt Winnie had callers, and the arrangements were to have them all for dinner and we, of course, waited dinner for Dorothy." He smiled at his daughter fondly. "When you did not appear, the anxiety became intense, and the callers are still at the apartment anxiously awaiting the return of the wanderer."

"Who are the callers," queried Dorothy; "do I know them?"

"No, just Aunt Winnie's friends, but they are waiting to meet you," said Major Dale.

"Won't I be glad to get home!" exclaimed Dorothy, clinging to her father's arm as they left the subway.

"Daughter," said Major Dale, sternly, "have you really forgotten?"

"Forgotten what, father?" asked Dorothy in surprise.

"Forgotten the dinner and dance that is to be given in your honor this evening?" Major Dale could just suppress a smile as he tried to ask the question with great severity.

"Oh, my dear!" cried Dorothy, "I forgot it completely!"

"Well," he said, "you'll be late for the dinner, but they are waiting for you to start the dance."

"You see, father," exclaimed Dorothy, desperately, "I am not a girl for society! To think I could have forgotten the most important event of our whole holiday! But tell me now, daddy, don't you think big James and his family would do nicely for old Mr. Hill's Summer home-they could care for it in the Winter, and take charge of the farm in the Summer?"

"That is just what I thought, but said nothing, because I did not care to raise false hopes in the breast of such a pathetic little woman as Tommy's mother."

"Then, before I join the dancers, I can rest easily in my thoughts, that you will take care of Tommy's future, daddy?" Dorothy asked.

"My daughter can join the party, and cease thinking of little Tommy and the others, because I'll take entire charge of them just as soon as we return to North Birchland."

"I knew it, dear," said Dorothy, as they entered the apartment, and she hugged her father closely. "You'd rather be down on Rivington Street at this moment, seeing the other side of the world, just as I would; wouldn't you, father?"

But her father just pinched her pink cheeks and told her to run along and be a giddy, charming debutante.

CHAPTER XXV THE LOVING CUP

"Hurry, hurry!" cried Tavia, hugging Dorothy. "You awful girl! I've been doing everything under the skies to help Aunt Winnie get through the dinner, but I absolutely refuse to carry along the dance! How could you place us all in such a predicament, you angel of mercy! And to leave me to manage those boys in their evening dress! They're too funny for words!

Nat positively looks weird in his; he insists on pulling down the tails, he's afraid they don't hang gracefully! And Ned is as stiff and awkward as a small boy at his first party!"

"And Bob?" asked Dorothy, as she arranged a band of gold around her hair.

"Well," said Tavia meditatively, "there might be a more uncomfortable-looking person than Bob is at this moment, but I never hope to see one. Dorothy, I simply can't look his way! He's pathetic, he's all hands, and he's trying to hide the fact, and you never saw anyone having so much trouble! In short, I've been scrupulously evading those very much dressed-up youths. They've been depending entirely on me to push them forward; just at present, with other awkward youths, they are holding up the fireplace in the little side room, casting fugitive glances toward the drawing room, where we're having the dance!" Tavia laughed and pranced about as she talked.

"Why will our boys always act so silly in the evening? I really believe if dances were given in the morning, directly after breakfast, the girls would be dull and listless and the men enchanting," said Dorothy with a laugh, as she stood forth, resplendent in her evening gown of pale blue, ready to make a tardy appearance.

The late arrival of the girl whom all these guests were invited to meet, caused a stir of merriment, which Dorothy met with a certain charm and grace, that was her direct inheritance from Aunt Winnie.

The boys emerged from the side room and looked around the dancing room, sheepishly. Now, in North Birchland and in Dalton, Ned and Nat enjoyed a dance, or a party, even if they did show a decided tendency to hide behind Dorothy and Aunt Winnie. But here in New York they were not gallant enough to hide their misery, and the comfortable back of Aunt Winnie was not at all at their disposal, and Tavia's back they had given up some hours since as hopeless, which left Dorothy as the last thin straw! And Dorothy was too much of a wisp of straw to hide such broad shoulders as Bob's and Ned's and entirely too short to hide tall Nat! So they clung together in a corner until Tavia separated them, giving each young man a charming girl to pilot over the slippery floor through the maze of a two-step.

Tavia was bubbling over with mirth. All this was as much to her liking-the lovely gowns and the laughter, the easy wit and light chatter.

"Did you notice that big suit-case in the hall?" whispered Tavia, mysteriously to Dorothy.

"Yes, indeed," replied Dorothy. "Are some of these people staying over the week-end?"

"Sh-h-h!" warned Tavia, leading Dorothy to a secluded corner behind a tall palm, "I'm really afraid to say it out loud!"

"This isn't a dark mystery, I hope. Tavia, I'm weary of sudden surprises-tell me at once," demanded Dorothy, laughing at Tavia's very dramatic manner of being securely hidden from view.

With one slender finger, Tavia pointed between the leaves of the palm to the dancing floor.

"Do you see that very picturesque creature in green?" she whispered.

"Yes," said Dorothy breathlessly.