Missy Part 34

"Did you bring it home?" brightening at a thought.

"Bring what home?" asked father.

"Why, the candy."

"Of course not."

"I don't see why, if you had to pay for it. The bottom part wasn't hurt at all."

Father laughed then, actually laughed. She was glad to see the serious look removed from his face; but she still begrudged all that candy.

Nor was that the end of the part played by the candy. That night, as she was kneeling in her nightgown by the window, gazing out at the white moonlight and trying to summon the lovely thoughts the night's magic used to bring, the door opened softly and mother came tiptoeing in.

"You ought to be in bed, dear," she said. No, Missy reflected, she could never, never be really cross with mother. She climbed into bed and, with a certain degree of comfort, watched mother smooth up the sheet and fold the counterpane carefully over the foot-rail.

"Mrs. O'Neill just phoned," mother said. "Tess is very sick. It seems she and Arthur got hold of that bucket of candy."

"Oh," said Missy.

That was all she said, all she felt capable of saying. The twisted thoughts, emotions and revulsions which surge in us as we watch the inexplicable workings of Fate are often difficult of expression. But, after mother had kissed her good night and gone, she lay pondering for a long time. Life is curiously unfair. That Tess and Arthur should have got the candy for which SHE suffered, that the very hours she'd been shut up with shame and disgrace THEY were gorging themselves, seemed her climactic crown of sorrow.

Yes, life was queer...

Almost not worth while to try to be athletic-she didn't really like being athletic, anyway... she hoped they'd had the ordinary human decency to give Gypsy just a little bit... Gypsy was a darling... that wavy tail and those bright soft eyes and the white star.. . but you don't have to be really athletic to ride a pony--you don't have to wear breeches and do things like that... Arthur wasn't so much, anyway--he had freckles and red hair and there was nothing romantic about him...

Sir Galahad would never have been so scared of Mr. Picker--he wouldn't have shoved the blame off onto a maiden in distress... No, and she didn't think the King of Spain would, either... Or Rev. MacGill... There were lots of things just as good as being athletic... there were... lots of things...

A moonbeam crept up the white sheet, to kiss the eyelids closed in sleep.

CHAPTER VIII. A HAPPY DOWNFALL

Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame?--A fitful tongue of fickle flame. And what is prominence to me, When a brown bird sings in the apple-tree? Ah, mortal downfalls lose their sting When World and Heart hear the call of Spring! You ask me why mere friends.h.i.+p so Outweighs all else that but comes to go?... A truce, a truce to questioning: "We two are friends,"

tells everything. I think it vile to pigeon-hole The pros and cons of a kindred soul. (From Melissa's Improvement on Certain Older Poets.)

The year Melissa was a high school Junior was fated to be an unforgettable epoch. In the s.p.a.ce of a few short months, all mysteriously interwoven with their causes and effects, their trials turning to glory, their disappointments and surcease inexplicable, came revelations, swift and s.h.i.+fting, or what is really worth while in life.

Oh, Life! And oh, when one is sixteen years old! That is an age, as many of us can remember, one begins really to know Life--a complex and absorbing epoch.

The first of these new vistas to unspread itself before Missy's eyes was nothing less dazzling than Travel. She had never been farther away from home than Macon City, the local metropolis, or Pleasanton, where Uncle Charlie and Aunt Isabel lived and which wasn't even as big as Cherryvale; and neither place was a two-hours' train ride away. The most picturesque scenery she knew was at Rocky Ford; it was far from the place where the melons grow, but water, a ford and rocks were there, and it had always shone in that prairie land and in Missy's eyes as a haunt of nymphs, water-babies, the Great Spirit, and Nature's poetics generally--the Great Spirit was naturally a.s.sociated with its inevitable legendary Indian love story. But when Aunt Isabel carelessly suggested that Missy, next summer, go to Colorado with her, how the local metropolis dwindled; how little and simple, though pretty, of course, appeared Rocky Ford.

Colorado quivered before her in images supernal. Colorado! Enchantment in the very name! And mountains, and eternal snow upon the peaks, and spraying waterfalls, and bright-painted gardens of the G.o.ds--oh, ecstasy!

And going with Aunt Isabel! Aunt Isabel was young, beautiful, and delightful. Aunt Isabel went to Colorado every summer!

But a whole year! That is, in truth, a long time and can bring forth much that is unforeseen, amazing, revolutionizing. Especially when one is sixteen and beginning really to know life.

Missy had always found life in Cherryvale absorbing. The past had been predominantly tinged with the rainbow hues of dreams; with the fine, vague, beautiful thoughts that "reading" brings, and with such delicious plays of fancy as lend witchery to a high white moon, an arched blue sky, or rolling prairies-even to the tranquil town and the happenings of every day. Nothing could put magic into the humdrum life of school, and here she must struggle through another whole year of it before she might reach Colorado. That was a cloud, indeed, for one who wasn't "smart"

like Beulah Crosswhite. Mathematics Missy found an inexplicable, unalloyed torture; history for all its pleasingly suggestive glimpses of a s.p.a.cious past, laid heavy taxes on one not good at remembering dates.

But Missy was about to learn to take a more modern view of high school possibilities. Shortly before school opened Cousin Pete came to see his grandparents in Cherryvale. Perhaps Pete's filial devotion was due to the fact that Polly Currier resided in Cherryvale; Polly was attending the State University where Pete was a "Post-Grad." Missy listened to Cousin Pete's talk of college life with respect, admiration, and some unconscious envy. There was one word that rose, like cream on milk, or oil on water, or fat on soup, inevitably to the surface of his conversation. "Does Polly Currier like college?" once inquired Missy, moved by politeness to broach what Pete must find an agreeable subject.

"Naturally," replied Pete, with the languor of an admittedly superior being. "She's prominent." The word, "prominent," as uttered by him had more than impressiveness and finality. It was magnificent. It was as though one might remark languidly: "She? Oh, she's the Queen of Sheba"--or, "Oh, she's Mary Pickford."

Missy pondered a second, then asked:

"Prominent? How is a-what makes a person prominent?"

Pete elucidated in the large, patronizing manner of a kindly-disposed elder.

"Oh, being pretty--if you're a girl--and a good sport, and active in some line. A leader."

Missy didn't yet exactly see. She decided to make the problem specific.

"What makes Polly prominent?"

"Because she's the prettiest girl on the hill," Pete replied indulgently. "And some dancer. And crack basket-ball forward--Glee Club--Dramatic Club. Polly's got it over 'em forty ways running."

So ended the first lesson. The second occurred at the chance mention of one Charlie White, a Cherryvale youth likewise a student at the University.

"Oh, he's not very prominent," commented Pete, and his tone d.a.m.ned poor Charlie for all eternity.

"Why isn't he?" asked Missy interestedly.

"Oh, I don't know--he's just a dub."

"A dub?"

"Yep, a dub." Pete had just made a "date" with Polly, so he beamed on her benignantly as he explained further: "A gun--a dig-a greasy grind."

"But isn't a smart person ever prominent?"

"Oh, sometimes. It all depends."

"Is Polly Currier a grind?"

"I should hope not!" as if defending the lady from an insulting charge.

Missy looked puzzled; then asked:

"Does she ever pa.s.s?"

"Oh, now and then. Sometimes she flunks. Polly should worry!"

Here was strange news. One could be smart, devote oneself to study--be a "greasy grind"--and yet fail of prominence; and one could fail to pa.s.s--"flunk"--and yet climb to the pinnacle of prominence. Evidently smartness and studiousness had nothing to do with it, and Missy felt a pleasurable thrill. Formerly she had envied Beulah Crosswhite, who wore gla.s.ses and was preternaturally wise. But maybe Beulah Crosswhite was not so much. Manifestly it was more important to be prominent than smart.

Oh, if she herself could be prominent!

To be sure, she wasn't pretty like Polly Currier, or even like her own contemporary, Kitty Allen--though she had reason to believe that Raymond Bonner had said something to one of the other boys that sounded as if her eyes were a little nice. "Big Eyes" he had called her, as if that were a joke; but maybe it meant something pleasant. But the High School did not have a Glee Club or Dramatic Society offering one the chance to display leaders.h.i.+p gifts. There was a basket-ball team, but Missy didn't "take to" athletics. Missy brooded through long, secret hours.